


The Spaces Between Us

by Justalittlelouislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, OT5, Strangers to Lovers, ghost au, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justalittlelouislove/pseuds/Justalittlelouislove
Summary: “Time passes differently when one is drifting through solitude. The people around him look right through him, right past him. Everything he says falls on deaf ears until he stops saying anything at all. It’s the most alone a person can possibly be. Without any obligations, space and time hold no meaning for him. He moves through buildings, through walls, through decades, sometimes without noticing. Liam lives in profound emptiness and doesn’t remember ever feeling anything else.“Liam is a ghost bound to nothing, feeling nothing. Until he finds Zayn and learns what it means to feel everything.





	The Spaces Between Us

Time passes differently when one is drifting through solitude. The people around him look right through him, right past him. Everything he says falls on deaf ears until he stops saying anything at all. It’s the most alone a person can possibly be. Without any obligations, space and time hold no meaning for him. He moves through buildings, through walls, through decades, sometimes without noticing. Liam lives in profound emptiness and doesn’t remember ever feeling anything else. 

He’s surrounded by people every day. He watches them with little interest and a lack of anything else to do. They laugh and joke. They cry sometimes, tucked away in corners all alone, or right in the middle of the pavement, screaming at another person, tears streaming down their face. They yell and whisper. They kiss and shove. They eat, they pray, they sing. They surround him every day, but every day he is perfectly and completely alone. 

There was probably a time he was able to tell when the days started and ended. He’s got a fuzzy memory of trying to keep track, trying to force his brain to recognise the world around him in some sensical way. But it’s been too long now, and he’s given up on that. The clothes are different, the sounds, and the sights. Everything is louder and faster. Everything is different in a way that can only mean a long, long time has gone by. 

Every so often, something piques his interest. Sometimes it’s something as simple as the way a person speaks or walks. Sometimes it’s the cadence of a person’s speech or their accent. Once it was a puppy wiggling its way along the pavement, dragging its owner behind. 

This most recent person has something that draws Liam in, and he can’t really be sure what it is. It’s a glow, maybe. A warmth that surrounds him and casts light on to the people that walk next to him along the path at the University. 

For a while, he watches him walk to and from the buildings on campus from afar. For the first time he can remember, he feels intrigued. He needs to know what the boy carries with him to classes, what he studies. So he begins walking along next to him, silent and invisible, investigating the artwork clutched under the boy’s arm, and itching to get a glimpse at the journal the boy stows in his rucksack. 

He follows him to class, watches him take in the lectures. He notices the shadows under his eyes when he carries a large mug of coffee. He wonders about the different styles his hair is some days. He watches him sculpt, and paint, and draw. He learns his name when he sees him scribble it across the bottom of the page. 

_Zayn._

Time, the days of the week, the time of the day, it starts to make sense again. Now that he’s pulled into Zayn’s schedule. He tells the days of the week by the clothes Zayn wears and the classes he attends, the amount of coffee he consumes. 

Mondays are for sculpting, for dried mud on the edges of Zayn’s jumper and the same old pair of ratty trousers. On Mondays, the shadows under Zayn’s eyes are the darkest, and he’s the quietest. Liam knows it’s a Monday when Zayn sets out across campus in a purposeful march, in the direction of the coffee shop he frequents. The rain is pounding down and no one else is around. Just Zayn and Liam. And Liam really doesn’t count as a someone else anymore, does he?

Zayn stops abruptly and Liam stops too, just a little behind him. Zayn’s shoulders slump slightly as he turns around. The colors of the world around him, around them, are just how they usually are, shades of grey, dull. But Zayn, Liam realises, Zayn isn’t dull. The tips of his hair are a vibrant blonde today. The designs along his arms are deep black, contrasting with his skin and bold. His jumper, nearly soaked through where it’s sticking up out of his coat, is red and faded in some spots. The rain blurs the trees behind him, but Zayn is perfectly in focus. 

As Liam stares, entranced, a drop of rain slides down Zayn’s jaw. Liam wonders if it’s cold. The rain and his skin. Wonders if he’ll get sick. 

Wonders what it is that has Zayn staring. 

“Why are you following me?” 

No one answers, of course, because no one is around. And that troubles Liam a little, he’s never seen the boy talking to himself before. Maybe a little mumble now and then, but not a full on conversation in the middle of a rainstorm. 

Maybe Liam hadn’t noticed someone. Turning around he searches the space behind them. It’s empty. 

“Are you going to answer me?” Zayn’s body language hasn’t changed, he’s still standing stock still with his arms limp at his sides. But his tone changes a bit, a little bit of annoyance seeping through. 

Liam becomes increasingly concerned. Then a thought dawns on him. Sometimes people have these - these contraptions, in their ears. They walk around talking to people who aren’t there, swinging their hands around wildly. He’s never seen Zayn with one, but maybe he’s just never noticed. He moves to circle around him in search of the contraption, and freezes. 

Zayn’s eyes, flashing with irritation, had tracked his movement. 

The words fall from Liam’s mouth and startle him, he can’t remember the last time he’d heard his own voice, “Can you see me?” 

At that, Zayn’s posture changes. His back stiffens and his fists clench. It could be anger, fear maybe. “Why would I be speaking to you if I couldn’t see you?” 

Liam doesn’t have an answer. This has never happened, whatever this is. Maybe he’d mistaken Zayn as human. Maybe he’s another spirit, moving through the world like Liam. 

But that doesn’t make sense. He would be able to tell, he knows he would. Plus, everyone else can see Zayn. So why can Zayn see him? 

“I don’t have any money,” Zayn says dryly. He hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder and shoves his other hand in his pocket. A raindrop slides from his temple to the cut of his jaw where it clings to the stubble. “So if you’re planning on mugging me, you’ll be pretty disappointed bro.” 

Liam casts one more look around. He feels exposed like someones ripped back a curtain and shown him to the world. He shakes his head, “I don’t need money.” 

Zayn’s sigh is irritated, long-suffering. His eyes sweep over Liam’s body. Liam knows instinctively that he’s being assessed. “So what, you want to be my sugar daddy or summat, some weird kink thing?” 

Liam doesn’t understand half the words in that sentence but he’s sure he doesn’t appreciate the sentiment that his tone implies. “No. No, I don’t need any- any sugar. I was just walking. Behind you.” 

“That’s what following is.” 

Again, Liam has no response. He can tell that Zayn is upset by his presence, which is something he’s not ever dealt with. So he’s overwhelmed, panicked. He takes a step back, giving in to the urge to run and escape the other man’s gaze. 

Zayn watches him with narrowed eyes. “Look,” he starts slowly, tossing a look over his shoulder apprehensively, but when he looks back he snaps his jaw shut, and his shoulders drop out of their defensive position. 

Confused. 

Liam stops his retreat. 

“What the fuck?” This time, Zayn’s voice is hushed and definitely not for Liam. Under his furrowed brow, his eyes pass right over him. He stands there for a couple of moments, staring through the rain at the empty space where he’d just seen Liam standing. When Liam doesn’t reappear, he shakes his head a little and turns back around, trudging along the path to the coffee shop. 

Liam follows after, torn between wanting Zayn to see him, and never experiencing that level of uncertainty and vulnerability again. 

* * *

Liam’s world is constantly teeming with energy and noise. In the autumn, especially around the shops that dot the edges of the campus, the volume reaches staggering levels. Conversations are shouted across distances or whispered hurredly between bent heads. Bikes with whirling chains and ringing bells wind through the hoards of people walking from place to place. Hand held contraptions buzz and play songs, church bells chime, sirens wail, tires screech. And even though Liam walks through it all in a slight haze of disconnect, more often than not, he finds it all painfully overwhelming. 

But the library is nice. Liam’s not sure of many things, but he knows he’s always liked being in the library. He likes the quiet calm of the place, the hushed voices and whispers of turning pages. No shouting, thrumming pulse of chaotic energy. He feels drawn to it like he’s drawn to the fine arts department. They feel familiar, those places, and safe. 

It’s not clear whether or not Zayn likes the library. But he’s there often, studying and sketching, always with a little furrow between his eyebrows. Liam’s watching him now, while he sketches in a white notepad. It’s a Wednesday then: Wednesdays are for the white notepad and long stretches of time in the library. 

Across the table from him, Liam watches the way Zayn’s eyes occasionally drift up and survey the room before dropping back to the pad. It could be that he feels Liam's presence, that happens sometimes. Zayn hasn’t seen him again, but Liam is mostly okay with that. 

A small sound, a book dropping from a table behind Liam, catches his attention and he turns to find the source. When he turns back, Zayn is looking up again, but this time his eyes are held steady on Liam’s face. 

“Did I fall asleep?” Zayn’s tone is confused but not irritated. 

Both the nature of the question and the realisation that he’s being addressedfor the second time in as many days, send Liam’s brain whirling. He doesn’t understand how this keeps happening.

“When?” Liam tries to use a hushed voice, it comes out more like a croak. It’s been a long while since he’s had to control the volume of his voice. Or use his voice at all really. Luckily, a quick glance around the room tells him no one else seems to be able to hear him.

“Just then,” Zayn says. Even at a whisper his voice is melodic, like he’s singing a song with every word he speaks. At first, Liam thought maybe it was a speech pattern that people had developed that he’d not noticed. A present time people thing. Now he’s pretty sure it’s just a Zayn thing. “You weren’t there a second ago. Did I drift off or something?” 

Liam supposes it’s human nature to try and explain away something as incomprehensible as he. It doesn’t dawn on him that it might be better to lie. 

“No.” 

The chair creaks a little as Zayn shifts his weight. His expression doesn’t change much, but he gives a tiny nod like that's what he’d been expecting to hear. “I didn’t think so.” 

Liam glances around the room again, uncomfortable under Zayn’s slow blinking gaze. But his eyes are very pretty, Zayn’s, the colour of caramel maybe, and they keep drawing Liam back. 

He doesn’t know if something like the colour of someone’s eyes has ever interested him before. “Why can you see me?” 

Zayn shrugs one shoulder, a tiny motion. “Don’t know. Thinking you might be a hallucination.” 

He seems extremely calm for someone who thinks they’re losing their mind. Maybe he’s been through it before. Maybe he’s already lost his mind. Liam has no idea. But he knows one thing for certain; he does not exist only in Zayn’s mind. 

“I’m not,” Liam says, doing better with keeping his voice quiet this time, just in case, “Other people sense me sometimes. It’s just only you that can see me.” 

“That sounds like something a hallucination would say.” 

Liam huffs. It’s a little rude to refer to someone as a figment of your imagination, isn’t it? Zayn’s only seen him twice and suddenly he’s telling him what he is or isn’t?

Impossibly rude. 

A twinkling song starts to play loudly from Zayn’s pocket, and he reaches down to pull it out while a few people look over in annoyance. He fumbles with it for a moment and then slides it back in his pocket. When he looks back up, his eyes search the space where he’d been looking at Liam. 

Which is perfectly fine with Liam. He’s not sure he likes these little chats anyway. 

* * *

Something has changed, shifted in Liam’s existence, and he’s got a feeling Zayn is somehow to blame. When he’d told him other people sense his presence, he’d not been lying per se, but it’s not a frequent thing. And when people did sense him, before Zayn, it was a brief thing, a quick glance up and then a shake of their head, a pause in conversation that was often overlooked and quickly forgotten. 

Now the interactions keep happening, more frequently and more obviously. It’s not like with Zayn, no one stops their day to accuse him of being a figment of their imagination, but there’s still a difference. 

Liam is sat in an almost empty classroom, save for the Professor, trying to avoid another such interaction. Being around fewer people will probably help. He’s not sure of the day, because he’s been trying his hardest to keep his distance from Zayn, but he does know this Professor. He’s Liam’s favorite if he had to decide, mostly because he teaches Advanced Drawing. His body is bent with age; he moves slowly and carefully, the joints on his hands are swollen with arthritis, but when he sketches, it’s like magic. 

Too drawn to the art to remember he’s supposed to be keeping his distance, Liam moves to the front of the room and stands near the large desk. The Professor is bent over it, his pencil moves in small strokes over his pad, filling the room with a gentle scratching sound. As Liam watches, a woman starts to emerge from the gray lines. Her face is round and soft, and Liam gets the urge to brush his knuckles across her cheek. Her lips are full and curved into a small smile, that looks like it’s holding no less than a million secrets. A warmth starts to spread through Liam’s chest and butterflies float around in his stomach. 

Liam moves closer, standing right at the Professor’s elbow now, enthralled. He doesn’t sense Liam there or doesn’t give any sign of it anyway, moving on to shape her nose with more gentle strokes, giving it a little bump on the bridge. The imperfection makes her even more beautiful. 

It’s her eyes though, that makes her the most gorgeous woman Liam has ever seen. They’re gentle and kind, but twinkle with mischief. The pencil makes them gray, but somehow Liam knows they’re green, like emeralds. Somehow he knows that when the sun hits them just right, little gold bits sparkle. He wants her eyes on him forever. 

The Professor gives her soft flowing hair while Liam stares, and then he seems to be finished. At the bottom of the page, he writes _Amor mei. Vita mei. In omnibus rebus._

In Liam’s head, soul, brain, _wherever_ , he hears, _My love. My life. My Everything._

His chest aches with the need to wrap her up in his arms and never let go. Tears, hot and surprising, spring up in his eyes and he tries to blink them away before remembering that no one can see them anyway. 

The Professor leans back in the chair and runs a finger along the edge of the paper, sighing, “My Lily, I miss you more every day.” 

Liam’s knees wobble under the weight of longing. “She’s so beautiful,” he whispers, still entranced. 

The old man nods with a small smile and then freezes. Abruptly, he rips his hand away from the paper and looks around the room quickly, brow furrowed. Liam stands completely still, terrified that the Professor will look at him again, and this time his eyes will stop. He feels like an intruder, a voyeur; he feels confused and caught out. 

Slowly, the old man rises from his chair, shaking his head. “Eugene, it seems like you’re finally losing it old man,” he murmurs to himself. 

Liam watches him shuffle out of the room, cane banging loudly against the floor. He waits for the door to close with a click and then he releases the tension in his body, sagging under the weight of his fear. 

Liam drags a hand over his face and looks back at the drawing. The woman he sees looking back isn’t beautiful at all, not breathtaking anyway. He rakes his eyes over the paper, confused. He doesn’t feel any of the things he felt just a moment ago. Her eyes are set a little far apart - something he’d not noticed - and don’t sparkle or shine. He tries to see the perfection in her jawline, tries to remember why he’d felt so desperate to have her cheek under his fingertips. 

But no matter how long he stares, he doesn’t feel anything but confused. 

Two weeks go by without another uncomfortable incident. The Professor hearing him, and whatever had happened with the drawing, was an unsettling experience. Zayn acknowledging him twice now is jarring and frightening, something that Liam feels sure he should avoid letting happen again.

He starts watching him from afar and never lets himself stand directly in Zayn’s line of sight. But he had felt less alone, less terribly _lonely_ , when Zayn’s eyes were on him instead of through him. It’s an addictive feeling, one that overpowers the fear. So, after two weeks of serious internal debate, Liam gives in and lets himself get close again.

He follows Zayn to the north side of campus, where they sit by the edge of the lake. The leaves on the trees, bullied by early November’s crisp wind, fall around Zayn in brilliant oranges and reds. He’s got the collar of his leather jacket flipped up in self-defense, and Liam wishes for the 100th time that he could run his fingers over the material and see if it feels as soft as it looks. 

Zayn’s got his sketchbook spread across his lap, coloured pencils, and a cup of coffee at the ready, on the ground near his right knee. Liam watches him for a second, from a safe distance, but as Zayn starts sketching, curiosity gets the best of him and he inches over. 

The drawing is different from anything he’s seen Zayn do before. Usually, he sketches out portraits, caricatures Liam’s heard him say. Other times he does cartoons, things like ghosts in sheets and strange men in capes. But this drawing is neither of these things. It’s a mass of deep red slashes and swirling dark lines. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the design, all the colors are dark but still clash. 

As he watches, Zayn adds more, moving a black coloured pencil quickly across the sketch pad in a way that adds depth to the whole thing. Liam’s bemused interest starts to shift, and he starts to feel frantic, panicked. Startled by the intensity and sudden onslaught of his feelings, Liam sits down abruptly. Zayn adds dark purple slashes across the page, once, twice, three times, and Liam feels like there's a monster clawing at his chest. The air around them presses in from all sides, caging them in. Zayn makes one last long slash of red across the paper and then takes a deep breath, staring at it. Liam takes a shuddering breath too, and tries to push back against the pressure on his chest. And then with a yank, Zayn rips the paper off the sketch pad and balls it up roughly. 

The feeling just... Stops. It all disappears; like Liam had been buried under a boulder and someone came along and shoved it off. He takes another deep breath and stares at the paper balled up in Zayn’s palm. It’s all in there, he knows somehow, all the feelings of pressure and being trapped, they’re all wrapped up in that ball. With a start, he notices Zayn’s chest moving rapidly as well, like breathing is just as hard for him.

Zayn tosses it to the side and picks up a green pencil. He starts to sketch a vine, adding round leaves of different sizes. Soon it covers the page and flowers sprout from it in purples and pinks. The awful feelings don’t come back. All Liam feels is calm and maybe a little tired. Zayn keeps sketching, and Liam keeps watching. 

When Zayn is done, he gathers his things and heads back towards the other side of campus. Liam does what he always does now, he follows. 

* * *

The next morning, Liam waits for Zayn by his coffee shop. He appears right on time, with his glasses slightly smudged and wearing a soft looking jumper. Liam watches him through the glass as he orders his coffee. When he comes out clutching his little white cup, and starts for the largest building on campus, Liam goes with him. 

Zayn brings them to his history classroom, one of his few classes not centred around art, and easily Liam’s least favourite. The classroom and Professor are alike: stale and stuffy. His monotone voice echoes through the room while Liam strolls up and down the aisles, looking over people shoulders at their doodles and notes. 

Like usual, Zayn is sat in the back of the hall, close enough that he can see the lecture but far enough that no one speaks to him. Liam sits in the chair next to him and promptly decides to ignore the Professor. For a while, he just watches the rise and fall of Zayn’s chest, entranced and lulled. 

About halfway through the lecture, Zayn stops writing abruptly. Liam furrows his brow and searches his face, but sees no change in expression. He turns and looks to the Professor, but finds him still droning on about the same subject. The paper of Zayn’s notebook rustles quietly as he flips to a fresh page and pauses, pen poised to write. 

Liam watches his face for a second, but still has no clue what's happening, so he drops his eyes to the paper and waits. 

Suddenly, Zayn starts writing. 

_I can see you_. 

Liam jolts, snapping his eyes back to Zayn’s face, but Zayn just keeps staring at the paper. 

It’s happening again. It’s not good; there’s no way that it’s good. Liam stands up, prepared to flee, but Zayn starts writing again. 

_I’m sorry if I upset you._

Liam hesitates, torn between fear and curiosity. Zayn’s eyes slide over to him for half a second, trying to gauge his reaction. Liam sits back down. 

“It’s alright,” he whispers, scanning the room to see if anyone turns or startles. No one does of course. Because no one else even knows he exists. 

_I’m still not sure you aren’t actually a hallucination, but that’s not an excuse to be rude._

“I’m not a hallucination,” Liam says, eyes tracing the tattoos lining the inside of Zayn’s forearm, “But I’ve got no way of proving that to you.” 

_Why do you keep leaving?_

Liam stares at the writing, red ink on blue and white lined paper. What response should he give to that? He’s not always leaving, not as often as Zayn thinks he is anyway. Would knowing how often Liam is around freak Zayn out? Probably. 

And even if he wanted to tell him why he does leave, he’s not sure of the answer himself. 

“I don’t know.” 

There’s a sudden uptick of movement and sound through the room. Liam glances around and finds the lecture has ended; all of the students are packing up and leaving the room. 

Zayn scribbles out another question hastily. 

_What’s your name?_

Liam looks up, ready to answer him to his face, but realises it’s too late. Zayn is looking at the space Liam’s occupying with that familiar searching gaze. 

“Well, maybe next time,” Zayn says with a tiny sigh, expression crestfallen.

Yeah, Liam thinks watching Zayn gather his things, maybe next time. 

* * *

Although he seems to have more control over where he goes now, there are still times when Liam finds himself somewhere he’d not meant to be. It’s like he’s magnetised, some force pulls him to Zayn, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing. Liam was in the library, watching a student search through the stacks, and then suddenly he wasn’t. 

He’s in Zayn’s flat now, in the narrow bathroom to be specific. He’s not spent much time in here, as it’s a bathroom, and he might be a ghost but he’s not _rude_. But he recognises the room from the handful of times he’s watched Zayn stumble in with a groan in the mornings, brushing his teeth and staring himself down in the mirror. 

Steam fills the tiny room, fogging up the mirror and Liam’s brain. He knows he should go, that what he’s doing is an invasion of privacy, but he feels like his feet are strapped to the floor, like he shouldn’t be, can’t be anywhere else in the world. Zayn starts to sing, a throaty song about being his own best friend. Liam closes his eyes and lets it wrap around him like a warm blanket, soothing and soft. His panic slips away quietly, replaced by complete relaxation and calm. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that they’re not his own emotions that he’s wading through, not totally his own anyway.

The water shuts off, but Zayn keeps singing and Liam keeps _feeling_. It’s all so devastatingly distracting and overwhelming. With a click, the shower door swings open and Zayn steps out onto the bath mat. He grabs his towel from the bar on the wall and brings it up to his head, rubbing at his hair. The steam swirls between them and clouds the glass of the shower behind him, making him look like he’s floating in the clouds. 

Liam’s brain ceases to process anything save for Zayn’s damp skin. Liam’s eyes follow a bead of water as it runs down the short hairs of Zayn’s beard and falls to his chest, sliding over tattoos and traveling down further to the flat plane of his stomach. He’s got a tattoo there too, a little heart all coloured in all black. 

Zayn is still singing and the bathroom is still so stuffy and too hot, and Liam can’t keep his eyes from shifting lower. Lower to the patch of soft curls at Zayn’s groin. Lower to the base of Zayn’s dick. He can’t help it, and once he's looked, he can't look away. It starts to fill, twitching ever so slightly as Liam stares, and he takes a step forward without a single conscious decision to do so. 

“It’s rude to stare.” 

Liam jerks, thoroughly startled and backs up three steps. He looks to Zayn’s face with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. I- I’m. I’m very sorry.” 

“Multiple apologies accepted.” Zayn smirks and wraps the towel around his waist, while Liam stares determinedly at the tile just behind him. “You can make it up to me.” 

Liam meets Zayn’s eyes again, “How?”

“Tell me your name,” Zayn answers immediately. “We should probably know each other’s names if you’re going to be staring at my dick.” 

“I don’t stare at it,” Liam says loudly, a little panicked. “It was- I didn’t even mean to be in here and, it’s- you’re naked!” 

Zayn nods his head calmly. “Your name?” 

Liam huffs. Zayn smiles at the sound, a gentle kind of thing that makes his eyes twinkle prettily. “Liam. My name is Liam.” 

“Liam,” Zayn repeats softly like he’s weighing the word against his tongue, feeling it out, tasting it. “Are you really here, my Liam?” 

Zayn takes a small step towards him and Liam’s breath hitches. Panic, thick and unrelenting surges through his entire body. He wants to get away. Closing his eyes tightly he desperately wishes to be back in the library, safely hidden away from beautiful boys and tan skin. 

When he opens them again, he’s standing in between rows and rows of books. There are some students huddled together at a table, whispering and laughing lowly. Another student is sitting at a laptop, clicking rapidly over the keyboard. But all Liam really hears, on a loop playing over and over, is Zayn’s soft voice saying “my Liam”.

* * *

Zayn’s flat is small but bright. He keeps the windows bare, and when there is sunlight to be had, it pours in and caresses every surface. The furniture is faded and mismatched but looks comfortable and soft. 

There’s art everywhere. Oil paintings, sketches, and drawings litter the walls and the floor, or can be found tucked into the corners with instruments and sculptures. Sometimes Liam watches Zayn sketch for hours on end, so wrapped up in his art he doesn’t notice the warm light from the sun drifting across the room, and casting a shadow around him like a sundial, until it sets and the moon comes up. 

Other times, he watches Zayn just being. He moves through the flat doing mundane things that Liam can’t help but be captivated by. Liam knows all about Zayn’s flat, each room, and its purpose. The toaster only works if you press the handle three times, Liam knows, and the oven timer sometimes doesn’t work at all. The bedroom gets cold at night, and the hallway creaks in three separate spots. 

He doesn’t live alone, although it had taken a bit for Liam to figure out which of the three men that were always around lived in the flat, and which only visited. Two of them, Harry and Louis, come and go, but the third, Niall, lives in the room down the hall from Zayn’s. 

Niall is loud and cheerful most of the time, and sassy and snappy some of the time. Liam finds him interesting; he gives Liam the impression that there’s way more to him than meets the eye.

Sometimes, Niall plucks away at his guitar while Zayn paints. Other times, Niall sings and Zayn sketches to the melody. Often times, like right now, they get out a whole lot of weed and lay on their backs and stare at the ceiling of the living room like overgrown, skinny jean wearing starfish.

Liam knew what it was the first time he’d seen them do it; a university campus is a great place to accrue knowledge about those types of things. He’d been watching them from across the room, listening to one of their soft and wandering conversations flow from one topic to the next with seemingly no direction, and realised he felt just as safe and calm in their flat as he does at the library. And he thought for the first time, that he might like to join them. That he might like to lay on his back with his eyes closed and let the smoke slowly out of his mouth. Let his mind wander wherever it may please without a concern for plans, or rules, or structure. The next second, he could _smell_ the weed. He’d definitely never been able to smell it before. 

Now, surrounded by the thick smell that he’s come to associate with calm, he sits curled up on the window sill, invisible, and content to listen to their half baked brains churn out half-formed thoughts for hours.

“Mate, I think I’m seeing things,” Zayn says, interrupting a ten-minute long spell of silence. 

Niall frowns at the ceiling and shakes his head. “Nah, this is legit. Got it from Haz, he doesn’t fuck around.” 

The floor creaks quietly under Zayn as he stretches out his legs and reaches a hand under his t-shirt to scratch at his belly lazily. “No, not right now. All the time.” 

Liam stares at Niall’s face, watching for any signs of panic or worry - the reaction one can expect from someone who’s just been told their best mate is losing their mind. 

Apparently, Niall and Zayn are so close because they are like-minded on the subject of encroaching insanity. Niall hums quietly and purses his lips in contemplation for a moment. “The same thing all the time or is it like a trippy Alice in Wonderland kind of situation?” 

Zayn’s eyelashes sweep over his cheeks, as he pulls from the joint between his fingers before responding, “It’s a bloke actually, always the same one.” 

Suddenly, Liam doesn’t like this so much anymore. He wants to be back in his library, cloaked in quiet and surrounded by the familiar scent of ink and paper. But Zayn is talking about him and, for some reason, he feels like he just can’t leave. 

“What’s he doing when you see him?” Niall stretches his arm out and flails around blindly until Zayn grasps his wrist and puts the joint in between his fingers carefully. “Thanks, mate. Are you sure no one else can see him? Maybe you’ve just got similar schedules.” 

Zayn drums his fingers against the hardwood floor in a familiar beat, something he’d been singing that morning in the shower. “He just walks behind me, or near me. Sometimes I’ll be taking notes and look up and he’s there. Saw him once in the library and no one else could hear him. And he’s not a little guy, he takes up some space. Plus, he wears a suit, expensive looking thing, people would notice him.” 

“Might be a hallucination,” Niall suggests without an ounce of concern. 

“Might be.” 

Rolling over onto his belly, Niall props his head up in his palm. “Have you tried speaking to him?” 

Zayn’s eyes have slipped closed, but he’s gnawing at his bottom lip like he’s thinking over his answer. “We’ve spoken. The first time I thought he was a mugger, yelled at him in the rain.” 

As a sign, raindrops start to splatter against the window pane. Liam turns his attention outward and watches students rush around on the pavement below, holding books and bags over their heads in an attempt to stay dry. 

Niall’s voice drags his attention back. “Maybe he’s not a hallucination, this place is old as shit, innit? Maybe he’s a ghost.” 

“Maybe. He disappears without any warning, I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or not. One second he’s there and the next I’m staring into empty space.”

“Sounds like a ghost to me,” Niall says, taking another drag, “But that also sounds like a hallucination, so I can’t really be sure.” 

Zayn makes a little noncommittal humming noise and sits up, stretching his arms out behind him to prop himself up. They lapse into silence again and Liam turns back to the window. As the smoke fills the room, he watches raindrops drag down the pane. He wonders idly what it would be like to lay on the floor with Zayn, to feel his fingers wrapped around his wrist as they’d been around Niall’s. 

“I can talk to Vadoma. She knows about this kind of stuff,” Niall suggests, he’s still flat on his back, but he waves his arm around in the air to pass the joint to Zayn. “I think she knows a little about everything, really. What does it feel like, when you see him? What kind of feeling do you get from him? Has he told you his name?”

Liam keeps his eyes on the rain and waits for Zayn’s response. When it doesn’t come, he turns towards him and is startled to find Zayn looking back. 

“Sad,” Zayn says, voice low and eyes locked on Liam’s. “His name is Liam and he feels sad and alone.”

For the first time in a long time, Liam wishes he could make himself invisible again. 

* * *

Early the next morning, Liam is sat at the kitchen table when Niall comes shuffling in scratching at his head and scowling. With chin in hand, Liam watches him start the coffee machine. It whirrs to life immediately, pressing out the silence in the flat. Coffee is one of the things Liam loves the smell of the most. Here in the flat, it’s a simple smell, deep and rich. At the coffee shop Zayn frequents, it’s complex and ever changing. Some days the cup Zayn carries with him smells of cinnamon, other days it smells of chocolate, or vanilla. Either way, complex or simple, Liam feels deeply comforted by it. 

Picking out a mug, Niall sighs softly. He’s loud most of the time, usually laughing uproariously at a joke, or singing a song at the top of his voice while he strums at his guitar. Niall expresses joy loudly, spreading it around the space completely. If he’s quiet, Liam has noticed, it’s usually due to anger. Or, like now, it’s just too early for him.

Like almost every other day, he opens the window above the sink and the sounds of early campus life come filtering in. The sunlight streaming in glitters through the dust in the air, making the whole kitchen hazy. When the coffee machine stops, Niall sits at the table with a cup and pulls out his phone. 

Liam watches the steam waft from the cup and lets his mind wander to the conversation Niall and Zayn had the night before. Hearing Zayn say his name had given Liam a feeling he can’t yet identify. He’d felt exposed and caught out, yes, but a part of him had felt the same as he does when he’s in the library - safe. 

“Well, I’d guess you’re Liam then,” Niall says calmly. 

Liam’s eyes snap up. Niall is still relaxed in his chair, with his palms wrapped his coffee cup. He regards Liam with calm curiosity and takes a sip of coffee. 

“You can see me,” Liam says quietly, unnecessarily. 

“Obviously.” Niall takes another sip and Liam squirms a little under his stare. At least Zayn had thought Liam was a real person following him around. Niall just watched him appear out of thin air and he’s not the least bit bothered. Liam finds himself firmly on his back foot. 

“Not everyone can,” Liam explains slowly. “I don’t know why you can. I don’t know why _Zayn_ can.” 

Niall tilts his head side to side, contemplating. “That is a question isn’t it? But there’s tons of things I don’t understand, doesn’t mean they aren’t happening just the same.” 

“You don’t think I’m a hallucination?” 

Niall tsks and takes a gulp a coffee, it thuds loudly when he puts it back down. “A hallucination that Zayn and I share? Not likely. It’s not like we’ve been doing shrooms together. I’m not even high.” 

Lord only knows what shrooms are or how one _does_ them. “I don’t think I’m a hallucination either.” 

“That’s exactly what a hallucination would say,” Niall quips with a smirk. 

Liam sighs. “That’s what Zayn said.” 

Niall rolls his eyes at that, waving the statement away with a hand between them. “Zayn gets everything interesting he says from me.” 

“He’s very interesting,” Liam says softly, glancing down at his hands for a moment. When he looks back up, Niall is smirking. 

“Is he?” Niall leans forward and narrows his eyes playfully. “What's so interesting about him?” 

Liam shifts in his chair. Niall’s body language is confusing, probably because Liam’s not used to correlating body language with speech. Coupled with the thoughts of Zayn, Liam starts feeling what he’s fairly certain is embarrassment. 

He shrugs and tells Niall the truth, “Everything.” 

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up and he leans back in his chair. “Everything? Do you think he’s attractive?” 

This conversation is growing more confusing by the minute. Liam frowns. “I- Do you?” 

“We’re not talking about me.” 

Well if Liam had a choice in the matter they wouldn’t be talking about him either. He huffs and shrugs again. “He’s pretty. His eyes and his- his cheeks. Yes, yes I think he’s pretty.” 

Niall takes another sip of coffee and Liam watches him apprehensively. He’s sure now that what he’s feeling is embarrassment, he’s just not sure why exactly. It’s a bit of a process, he’s discovering, becoming self-aware. 

“Do you find other people... Pretty?” Niall smirks a little but schools his face quickly to something more serious. 

Trying to assess the motive behind the question, Liam watches him for a second, mulling it over. “I- well. You have very pretty eyes.” 

Niall blinks and then cackles, a loud, surprising sound that has Liam smiling along without him even noticing. “You’re very sweet Liam, aren’t you?” 

“I guess,” Liam says slowly, “I don’t really know who I am.” 

Niall’s smile drops instantly. His eyes sweep over Liam’s face searchingly and then land on Liam’s eyes, where they hold. “We’re going to find that out. Okay? I’m going to help you.” 

Liam stares back at him, and even as he feels himself drift away, even as he watches Niall’s surprised eyes search the room for him, he knows that it’s true. 

Niall is going to help him. 

* * *

Three weeks later Liam is back in the in-between state, as Zayn calls it, sat on the sofa watching Zayn clean paint brushes when Harry marches through the front door looking thoroughly put out. 

“I need my criminal justice book,” he announces, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m going to be late for class.” 

Zayn’s jaw ticks and he glances in Liam’s direction, even though he can’t see him. Liam is starting to think that maybe he can feel him, sense him maybe. “Okay?” 

Harry shuffles his feet, impatient. “Can you go and get it?” 

“I’m an art history major,” Zayn says slowly, furrowing his brow at Harry. 

“I’m aware.” 

Liam looks between them, confused by the conversation and slightly worried by Harry’s obviously increasing agitation. At least Zayn looks to be just as confused and Liam’s just not out of the loop because he’s out of their space and time. 

“Why would I have your criminal justice book?” Zayn tries again, tossing his hands up. “I have literally no use for it.” 

“Why the fuck do you do anything?” Harry snaps. “You have it, you probably just forgot or some shit. I just saw the sketch you made of the guy in the first chapter, it was laying on the floor in your room.” 

Zayn shakes his head. “H, I-” 

Harry groans and stomps away from them, towards Zayn’s room, flinging the door open. Zayn and Liam wait on the sofa, listening to the shuffling of papers and the occasional curse Harry sends flying. 

He’s back, not two minutes later, with a sheet of sketch paper gripped in his hand. “See?” 

Zayn stares at the paper, mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide. Liam stares at Zayn, mind whirling around like a spinning top.

Harry stomps. “Hello! Can I have my fucking book?” 

Zayn swallows. He looks from the sketch to Harry and then back again. “Who-” Zayn clears his throat when his voice comes out more like a croak, “Who is that Harry?” 

Harry glances at the paper confused. “Liam Payne? You didn’t read any of the chapter before you drew him?” 

Liam gets up from the sofa, panicked. He doesn’t know what this is, he doesn’t know what’s happening, or why he’d been in a book that Harry needs for some class. Liam isn’t even sure of who he is himself, why is Harry so certain?

Zayn’s shoulders slump and he brings his feet up onto the sofa, making himself as tiny as possible. “He’s real,” he says quietly, more to himself than to Harry. 

Concern for Zayn overtakes panic, and Liam slowly sits back down and watches him closely. He wants to reach out and comfort him, rub a hand across his back maybe. Do something, anything to change the confused tension that’s radiating off of him. 

Harry waves his hands, oblivious to the multiple meltdowns going on in the room, “Yeah, he’s real. Well, like he was. His great grandfather or whoever built the school. Liam disappeared. That’s why he’s in the book. Just vanished one day.” 

“I’m not crazy, okay?” Zayn starts, scooting to the edge of the sofa cushion. “I have something to tell you, but I’m not crazy.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “That’s seriously fucking debatable.” 

Zayn licks his lips and takes a deep breath. Liam’s eyes bounce between them. 

“I’ve been seeing Liam. Not like… I’m not dating him. He's- he’s haunting me.” 

Liam realises it’s happened a second before Harry registers it. He feels… aware of himself somehow, in a way that he hadn’t just a second before, and then he knows he’s not in the in-between state, he’s visible, and by the look of utter terror on Harry’s face, he’s not only visible to Zayn. 

“What the fuck!” Harry shouts, scrambling backward and tripping on his own feet. He lands on the floor with a thud and scooches back towards the wall, mouth hanging open in shock. 

Zayn whips his head around and spots Liam on the couch next to him. He looks pleasantly surprised for half a second, and then realisation dawns on his face, “Oh, fuck,” he whispers. 

“What the actual fuck is going on!” Harry shrieks. He’s trembling, shaking like a leaf in the corner and pointing at Liam. “Where the fuck did he come from?” 

Zayn holds up his hands. “H, relax.” 

Harry’s eyes bulge out of his head so dramatically, Liam leans back in fright. “RELAX? A man just materialised on your sofa and I’m supposed to relax? Wait- wait. Can you see him? Am I losing my mind? Zayn, can you fucking see him?” 

“Of course I can fucking see him.” Frustrated, Zayn drags a hand over his face roughly. “I’m the one who told you about him, not two seconds ago.” 

Harry flails his arms around over his head, “Oh excuse me for being a little forgetful at the moment. I’ve heard ghosts appearing sometimes do that to a person. What else have you got in here Zayn? Hmm? What’s next a goblin?” 

Liam snorts, surprising himself, and Harry’s eyes snap to his face. “I can hear him too.” 

Zayn props his elbows on his knees and drops is face into his hands. “Yeah. Liam, this is Harry. Harry, this is Liam. He’s already met Niall.” 

“Hello Harry,” Liam greets, trying to comfort him but failing miserably if Harry’s expression is anything to go by. 

Harry shakes his head, staring at Liam with his mouth hanging open. Zayn sits up and looks between them, sighing. “Well, don’t be rude Harry.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry says immediately, like an innate reaction to being chastised over manners. “You’ve really fucking freaked me out, if I’m honest.” 

“If it helps,” Liam says softly, twisting his fingers in his lap, “You’re freaking me out too.” 

Zayn’s head snaps around, his eyes roam over Liam’s posture and face. “Are you okay?” 

The first time Liam had followed Zayn into the coffee shop, he’d nearly run back out. There were so many smells, far too many to categorise. And sounds - talking, laughing, keyboards clicking, machines whirring. It had been so overwhelming it felt like drowning. It’s a bit how Liam feels now. Explaining that seems like an impossible task. 

Harry gets up off the floor slowly and takes a few steps closer. “Anxious? Caged in, maybe?” he suggests quietly. Liam glances at Zayn and then nods. Harry shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I would never purposely do that to you. Are you alright?” 

Liam blinks at the kindness in Harry’s tone. “I’m fine,” Liam assures them, rolling his eyes in a way. “I’m the ghost here.” 

“Are you?” Harry tilts his head, studying him. Zayn’s silent but watchful, body language tense. 

“I- I don’t know actually,” Liam admits. None of this is helping with the anxious feeling. “Zayn used to think I’m a hallucination, but Niall doesn’t think so.” 

“I didn’t know ghosts got anxious,” Harry says slowly. “Do ghosts have anxiety?” 

Liam shrugs. It’s not like he's an authority on the subject either. “I don’t know, really.”

Harry nods along for a bit, just kind of watching Liam in an awkward kind of way that Liam’s not sure he’s fond of. Zayn clears his throat after the third glance Liam throws his way, and Harry snaps out of it, standing up and brushing off his trousers. 

“Well, I’d better get to class before I miss the whole thing,” he says with a small smile. He puts his hand out to Liam for a shake but quickly shoves it in his pocket when Liam blinks at it rapidly. “Right. Ghost. Right. Alright, I’ll see you guys around - I…, right? Will I see you around?” 

Zayn sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. “Unfortunately for me, Liam is the only one of us who can escape you.” 

“You love me and you’re a terrible actor. Keep him in line, Liam.” Harry gives him a soft smile and then winks at Zayn, before heading back out the door with one last little wave. 

With a quiet laugh, Zayn picks up the paint brushes and resumes cleaning them. Liam stares at the muddy water swirling in the glass. After a bit, the room seems to open up again, and Liam feels less stuck, less trapped.

“Did I scare you?” Zayn says out of the blue, like he instinctively knows Liam is good to talk now. “The other day in the bathroom. Did I make you anxious and that’s why you left?” 

Liam takes a deep breath and looks at the floor. “I got overwhelmed. It’s- I’m not used to talking to people. I’m not used to any of this. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“It was my fault,” Zayn insists sternly, glancing up at him and away. “I didn’t mean to, but it’s still my fault. I’ll be less pushy from now on. Is that what it was, me moving into your space?” 

“Maybe,” Liam says, turning his head to watch Zayn’s profile, “You don’t always make me anxious though. I like being around you. I think that’s why-why I can stay longer now.” 

Zayn hums and pulls the brush out of the glass, wiping it on a towel that’s across his thigh. Liam tracks the movement and then looks back up quickly, cheeks burning. He’s stunned for a second by the realisation that he’s feeling his own embarrassment. He’s been feeling his own anxiousness. He’d been so wrapped up in how uncomfortable it felt, he didn’t think of how different it all was. 

“I like being around you too,” Zayn says, smiling at him, oblivious to his existential crisis. “You’re not so bad for a hallucination.” 

“Yes, well,” Liam says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back, “That’s still really rude to say, I hope you realise.” 

Zayn smiles, the biggest one Liam’s seen yet, with his tongue caught between his teeth and his nose scrunched up. “Yeah, I realise. I think I like winding you up, ghost boy.” 

Liam laughs, entirely against his will, and waves his hand around in Zayn’s general direction. “Just keep cleaning your brushes.” 

When Liam is pulled away again, it’s not until he’s sat in the quiet company of Zayn for another hour. And while he used to feel relieved about slipping back into the shadows and a little scared about being seen, he finds that those emotions are starting to fade. 

While he walks the library aisles that night, fingertips floating over the spines of the books, he imagines what it would be like to run his fingers over Zayn’s skin. 

* * *

Louis’ reaction to Liam suddenly materialising directly in front of him is wholly different to Harry’s, and far too calm, and really solidifies Liam’s theory that Zayn has surrounded himself with a group of individuals with a really lax policy on mental stability. 

“So, your Zayn’s Liam then.” Louis tilts his head to the side, and props his hands on his hips. “Pretty fit for a dead guy.” 

Liam blinks. “I’m- Thank you.” 

Louis shrugs. “Do you watch telly?” 

Liam glances at the television on the wall and back, this isn’t exactly the line of questioning one would expect in this situation. “When it’s on, yeah.” 

“Can you not turn it on?” Louis waves his hand around, gesturing to Liam’s entire being. “Can you move things, touch things?” 

Liam shakes his head, and then considers. “I don’t know, I haven’t tried. I don’t think I can turn it on, no.” 

Louis lets out a breath and shakes his head sullenly. “A sad existence, that is. Well, I’m going to watch some footie, come on then.” 

Without another word, Louis ambles out of the kitchen, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and plops himself on the couch. Liam, stunned and dazed, follows after him. He perches on the couch next to him and tries to pay attention to the players on the screen instead of analyzing their interaction. 

Out of the blue, Louis asks, “Do you remember dying?” 

Mouth hanging open, Liam whips his head around. “Excuse me?!” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m sat in me best mate’s flat with a _ghost_ and you’re expecting me not to ask how he got to _be_ a ghost? Come on.” 

Well. That is true. “Niall doesn’t think I’m dead.” 

Louis hums, considering for a moment. “Well, I’d listen to Niall if I were you. He knows about this kind of stuff. He’s got a girlfriend that’s a witch doctor or something like that.” 

Liam nods and turns back to the tv. Exhausted by the entire interaction really, but not uncomfortable which is… different. 

Louis lets silence fall over the room for all of seven seconds. “So. What are your thoughts on avocado?” 

* * *

One of Liam’s favorite things to do is watch Zayn in the kitchen, even if he has no idea what exactly he’s watching him do. After a particularly dull history class that morning, Zayn had told him he was in the mood for some baking, speaking out the side of his mouth the entire time, so as to avoid looking like a lunatic carrying on a conversation all by his lonesome. So Liam knows, at least, that the mess Zayn is creating is something that will need to be baked, but aside from that it’s all a mystery. 

“Haven’t you added that bit already?” Liam whispers, craning his neck to look inside the bowl. 

Zayn shakes his head, adding in the sugar. “No. That was the flour, this is sugar, mate.” 

“It all looks the same to me,” Liam admits, and then adds, “How do you know how to bake anyway?”

Zayn swipes a hand across his brow, leaving a trail of flour there, stark white against his tan skin. “My Mum taught me. I like being in the kitchen, it reminds me of her.” 

A twinge of sadness pricks at Liam, but he bats it away. He doesn’t remember his Mum, but there's no point in feeling sad about it. “What else-”

“Why are you whispering?” Zayn snaps, turning to him with a furrowed brow. “You’re weirding me out.” 

Liam pulls up short. “Well- Louis is napping on the couch.” 

Zayn sucks his teeth and turns back to the bowl, stirring the dough. “Don’t baby him. He doesn’t even live here.” 

“Neither do I,” Liam points out with a self deprecating little laugh.

Zayn turns abruptly and points the spoon at him. “So not the fucking same.” 

“Offensive,” Louis yells from the couch. The springs creak under him as he hauls himself up. He marches into the kitchen. “Zayn, that was bloody offensive. Don’t you know anything about ghost etiquette? Rule number one: Don’t remind dead guy he’s dead.” 

“Yesterday you asked me how likely it was that an axe murderer offed me,” Liam says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“People change, Liam.” Louis reaches into the bowl, and pulls his hand back with a yelp when Zayn smacks him with the wooden spoon. “You’re a bloody barbarian, did you know?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn says easily. “Keep your fingers out of my cookie dough.” 

With a huff, Louis hops up on the counter facing Liam. “And what do you have planned for the rest of your day? More _British Bake Off_ with the Grump here?” 

Liam has no idea what _British Bake Off_ is, but whatever. “I don’t know, I don’t really make plans.” 

Louis nods, pursing his lips. “Cause of the dead thing?” 

Zayn lets out a long suffering sigh.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yes Louis, because of the dead thing.” 

“I thought rule number one was don’t mention the dead thing,” Zayn says dryly, taking out a baking tray from the cupboard. 

“I’m above rules, Zayn,” Louis says, puffing out his chest. “This man bends his knee to no one.” 

“Yeah? You might want to let Harry know that, next time he gets his knickers in a twist when you’re late for movie night,” Zayn says. 

“Harry is an angel walking this Earth, not a mere man,” Louis says, without a hint of embarrassment. “That’s not the same.” 

“Can we get back on task here,” Liam groans. 

“You want to come watch my drama class?” Louis asks happily, “We’re running lines today.” 

Liam furrows his brow. “I thought you only had classes in the mornings.”

“Yeah, I do,” Louis agrees quickly. “I run this one. I’m a TA to help pay for Uni, seeing as I’m not a millionaire.” 

Zayn snorts, looking up from the baking tray, where he’s got half a dozen mounds of dough lined up. “Yeah, Liam. Not all of us are sugar daddies.” 

Liam frowns. “I still don’t know what that means.” 

With a thump, Louis jumps down from the cabinet and starts walking towards the door. “Come on then, I’ll explain on the way.” 

Liam looks up at Zayn, who gives him a nod and a small smile, and then follows after Louis. At the door, he pauses and looks back into the kitchen. 

“Have fun, Zayn,” he calls, procrastinating just a bit. 

“I’ll try.” Zayn looks up from the baking tray with a dramatic pout. “But I’ll miss you too much.” 

Louis yanks Liam down the hall before he can go back into the kitchen, and never leave Zayn’s side again. 

* * *

Drama, as it turns out, is fascinating. 

Liam’s watching the stage from a dark corner in the back of the theatre. He and Louis hadn’t been worried about anyone seeing him, really, but it’s not like Louis can just speak to thin air in the middle of the room, so they’d picked a safe spot. There are about a dozen people on stage now, although that number changes depending on the scene. They’re doing a production of Pride and Prejudice, and Liam’s enthralled. 

Louis hops down from the stage and makes his way to the back with a white paper bag swinging in his right hand. Plopping himself down in the seat next to Liam, he pulls something out of the bag and starts unwrapping it. The paper rustles noisily. 

“So what do you think?” Louis takes a large bite out of what Liam realises is a burger, and watches him while he chews. 

“I think there was a sign on the door that said no food and drink,” Liam points out dryly, cocking a brow. “Where did you even get that?

Louis takes another bite, starring Liam in the eye. “One of the girls brings me a little something every class,” he says around a full mouth. “She's a doll.” 

Liam rolls his eyes, pulls his feet up and rests his head on his knees. One of the actors starts his monologue and he turns to watch. “I think it’s amazing.” 

“Yeah right,” Louis says sarcastically. Liam turns his head to look at him, and Louis blinks at his expression. “Wait. Really? You think it’s good?” 

Liam nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I think it’s really cool. And they all seem so… so real. Like they’re not even acting.” 

Louis’ smile goes megawatt bright, as his eyes crinkle at the sides. “They’ve been working really hard. It’s only the first time on stage for some of them.” 

“Wow,” Liam says, turning back to face the stage. He shakes his head. “I would have never known. They’re much better than those people on the programme Niall watches.” 

“Oh, that's reality TV,” Louis explains. “They’re acting, but they’re supposed to pretend they aren’t. So it ends up being a bit of a mess, doesn’t it?” 

The scene ends, the actors walk off, and stagehands quickly make their way across the stage, changing out the scenery. Liam scoots to the edge of his seat, excited to see what's going to happen next. 

“Have you never seen a play, then?” Louis asks. 

Liam purses his lips and thinks about it. “Not that I can remember. I don’t even think I’ve ever been in this room. But, honestly, I don’t remember much before… before Zayn. I was just drifting really.” 

“But what about when you were... You know, solid?” Louis’ using a gentle, soothing tone. He is surprising in that way, Liam thinks. He seems loud and brash most of the time, but sometimes, the right times, he’s soft. “Can you remember that time at all?” 

“I’d rather not,” Liam says slowly. “I mean, I don’t like trying to remember it. It scares me a bit because I don’t know. It really could have been an axe murder for all I know. Who would want to remember that?” 

“Mate,” Louis says, tossing his head back with a groan. Liam looks around the theatre nervously, but no one seemed to have heard him. “Everyone knows if it had been an axe murder, you’d be all bloody. Plus, Niall says you’re not dead anyway.” 

Liam shrugs, letting it go. “Do you act?” 

Louis takes the last bite of his burger and nods. “Yup. Gonna be a drama teacher, me. It’s the best thing in the world. You can be anyone, anything you can possibly imagine. That’s real freedom.” 

“Huh,” Liam says, “I think I’d like to try it. I mean I don’t know how I could, because people can’t actually see me. But, I think I would really like to.” 

Louis stands up, balling up his burger wrapper. “We’ll see what we can do, Casper.” 

Louis tosses the wrapper at Liam and, without thinking, he reaches out to grab it. But instead of it floating right through his hand, and landing on the floor as it should, it lands in his palm. Liam blinks. 

“Has that ever happened before,” Louis whispers. His eyes are wide and surprised. “Have you ever done that?” 

Liam slowly closes his fingers around the paper and stares at his fist. The paper is slick with grease and soft. And it’s _in_ Liam’s hand. 

Stunned, he looks up to Louis, shaking his head. “No. Never.” 

After a second of stunned silence, Louis gives him a small smile. “Maybe it’s the magic of the theatre.” 

Liam watches him stride away and hop back on stage, and thinks it’s got to be something. And it sure does seem a whole lot like magic. 

* * *

The discovery that he can touch things is a little overwhelming for Liam, and although he makes it through the class with Louis, he’s not surprised to find himself walking to the library soon after. He spends the night there, grazing his palms over the smooth wood tables, opening books and flipping through the pages, pushing buttons on the machines. 

When he goes back to Zayn’s flat the next day, he catches him just as he’s getting back from class, and follows him in. 

“How was the class with Louis yesterday?” Zayn asks while pulling out his sketchpad and situating himself on the bed. 

Liam sits on the window sill next to the bed. For the first time, he actually feels the coolness of the glass against his back. 

“I liked it. Well, mostly,” Liam murmurs, watching Zayn shade in a drawing of Ninja Turtle. Which are not at all like actual turtles, and are also probably not real, no matter what Louis says. “He asked the students if they knew any good ghost stories.” 

Zayn snorts and looks over at him, cocking his head to the side. “Not the most subtle, our Tommo.” 

Liam nods and glances away, needing a second to work up a bit of courage. If Zayn notices anything off, he doesn’t say, instead, he goes back to shading and lets silence fall over them again. He’s almost done by the time Liam interrupts again. 

“We kind of found out I can touch things,” Liam says. “I mean now, now I can move things, touch them. Before, I couldn’t.” 

Zayn’s hand freezes mid-sketch, and he jerks his head up. “Kind of?” 

Liam glances down at his hands “Well not kind of,” he clarifies. He looks up with a sheepish smile and raps his knuckles on the wall. “I can. I caught a piece of rubbish Louis threw at me. I would have had to knock if you weren’t at the door earlier.” 

Slowly, Zayn puts down the pencil and stands up. He walks over to Liam. “And you’ve never been able to touch anything before?” 

Liam shakes his head, watching Zayn approach. He feels a flutter in his stomach, a bit like what he’d felt in the bathroom that time. But, this is different, less severe. 

Zayn stops right in front of him, so close that Liam can see the specks of gold in his eyes. Slowly, he presents Liam with his hand, palm up. 

Liam’s eyes bounce between Zayn’s face and his hand. The flutter is more of a jump now. Liam swallows and reaches out his hand, but stops with a just a breath of space between them. 

“Go on,” Zayn whispers. He’s standing completely still, but as Liam watches, the pulse in his neck jumps. “It’s alright.” 

Like snakes and their charmer, the butterflies in Liam’s stomach settle at the soft tone of Zayn’s voice. With another deep breath, he drags his index finger over Zayn’s palm lightly. 

The world doesn’t end, and Zayn doesn’t rip his hand away. In fact, he takes one step closer, so they’re nearly pressed together and looks up at Liam with a smile. “See. Everything’s fine.” 

Liam licks his lips and nods. “Can I- Can I do it again?” 

“Of course,” Zayn says gently. 

Liam searches his face for any sign of discomfort but finds nothing but a soft smile and gentle eyes. A little emboldened, Liam touches him again, dragging his finger along his palm and tracing along the lines there. 

He’s got calluses at the base of his middle and ring finger, they’re rough to the touch. He’s warm, so warm. 

“Did you go to the library?” Zayn asks. “After this happened yesterday?” 

Staring at their hands, Liam snorts. “ _This_ has never happened.” 

Zayn laughs quietly. “I mean after you figured out you could do this. Did you get anxious?” 

Liam goes from using one finger to three, gently sweeping them from Zayn's wrist to his fingertips. He doesn’t look up to answer, “Yes. I stayed all night.” 

“What did you do?”

Liam smiles, remembering. “I touched the books mostly. I feel so safe there, so comfortable, right? But I’ve always just watched everyone reading. Feeling the pages on my fingertips was amazing.” 

“You’ve been wanting to touch the books,” Zayn says, and it’s not a question but Liam nods anyway. 

Zayn takes a step back and Liam drops his hand immediately, scared he’s done something wrong. Zayn reaches down, grabs the hem of his sweatshirt and pauses, watching Liam’s face intently. A wave of calm, relaxed energy rolls off him and laps up against Liam like soft seafoam kissing the shore. Liam’s fear subsides and his body releases tension he’d not realised he was holding. Zayn must sense the change, probably is able to see the whole thing play out on Liam’s face, and pulls the sweatshirt off in one fluid motion. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at my tattoos when you think I’m not watching,” Zayn says softly with a smirk and tilt of his head. 

Liam blinks. It’s not as if he’d been trying to be secretive about it. It’s just, well, it’s not right to stare, is it? “I’ve never seen anything quite like them.” 

“It’s just ink and imagination.” Stepping closer again, Zayn holds out his arm. “Do you want to feel them?” 

Liam drags his eyes over the tattoos on Zayn’s arms, on his chest, his stomach. “All of them?” 

“If you’d like,” Zayn says, voice a bit deeper than it was before. “Whatever you want.” 

The air in the room goes thick and charged. Heat snakes its way up over Liam’s skin, starting at his toes and rapidly rushing up to his chest, leaving a pink flush as evidence. Liam doesn’t dare look up at Zayn’s face, terrified of what he’ll see there. 

“Come on then,” Zayn taunts playfully. “Don’t be scared.” 

He is scared though, he’s terrified. And he wants to do this more than anything in the world. Zayn takes another step closer and Liam wants to run. He leans back to give himself some space and the glass, cold and damp, reminds him he’s got nowhere to go. 

“Come on then,” Zayn says softly, scrunching his nose. Liam blinks, and Zayn just leans in. His breath ghosts across Liam’s cheek. He’s so close. He laughs a little, batting his eyelashes dramatically. “Come on, come on Liam. Come on then-” 

Liam steels himself and grabs his arm, halting his advance and silencing him all in one. 

“See,” Zayn says, smirking like he’s won some kind of prize, “That wasn’t so hard.” 

Heart pounding and breath coming in quick pants, Liam stares at his fingers wrapped around Zayn’s forearm. Slowly, he applies gentle pressure and watches Zayn’s skin shift. It feels different than his palms, with the soft hair and smooth expanse of his skin. 

The tattoos there don’t feel like anything at all, but Liam releases Zayn’s forearm to trace them with his fingers anyway. Goosebumps crop up on Zayn’s skin and Liam looks at his face quickly, nervous. 

Zayn just smiles and lifts his arm a little higher, planting his palm on the wall next to Liam’s head and nudging his head in a way that Liam takes to mean _go ahead._

Fascinated and dazed, Liam runs his fingers up Zayn’s arm to his shoulder, and over the sharp jut of his collar bone, where he’s got delicate writing inked into his skin. He can feel the soft thump, thump, thump of Zayn’s heart under his fingers, and he presses his palm against the beat, sucking in a sharp breath. 

Zayn’s pulse jumps along the line of his throat and draws Liam’s eye up. He lets his fingers follow, and drags them over the scruff on Zayn’s jaw. It’s different from the hair on his arms, more coarse, and prickly against his fingertips. 

“Maybe I should have shaved,” Zayn says with a soft laugh. “I’m not properly prepared for this, am I?” 

What steps could possibly prepare either of them, _anyone_ , for a situation as amazing as this? 

Liam shakes his head, staring at the way Zayn’s lips move when he speaks. “I like the way it feels.” 

“We aim to please.” 

Liam can’t take his eyes off of Zayn’s mouth. His lips are light pink and soft looking, probably just a regular pair of lips like anyone else’s. But he’s got to know for sure, got to take his thumb and drag it across Zayn’s bottom lip. 

Zayn lets his lip be pulled down just ever so, and then he opens his mouth and pulls Liam’s thumb in, resting his teeth against it gently. His mouth is warm and wet, and Liam feels like he might pass out. 

A second later he realises that what he’s feeling is all the blood rushing away from his brain and towards his dick. He sits there, with his thumb in Zayn’s mouth, his dick hard in his pants, and starts to slowly panic. 

It must show on his face, because Zayn pulls his head back slightly, letting Liam’s thumb go. Liam’s arm drops limply to his side, and Zayn watches it fall. His eyes catch on Liam’s crotch, on Liam’s probably very obvious erection, and hold for a second. 

Liam tries to brace himself for Zayn’s reaction, but that's nearly impossible as he’s not a single clue how anyone would ever react to their ghost friend getting an erection from touching their mouth. 

Zayn’s reaction is… not a reaction at all really. His expression remains calm and unaffected, and he doesn’t move away or closer. He just blinks slowly and smiles. 

“Want to see what I’m working on for next week’s show?” 

Liam has the strongest urge to lean around Zayn and check the time to see if he’s lost a chunk of the conversation. 

“What?” 

Zayn nudges his head towards the bed. “Do you want to see what I’ve been drawing. I’ve got that gallery show next week, remember?” 

Liam does remember. But he also remembers that they are in the middle of an extremely terrifying situation and perhaps they should focus on that? 

“I’d really like your opinion on it,” Zayn adds, just moving on along with the conversation. “You’ve got good ideas.” 

With that, he turns away and walks back to the bed. He plops down and starts rifling through the pages of his drawing pad. Liam watches him, mouth slightly agape and dick slightly less hard. 

When he gets to the page he’d been looking for, Zayn looks up expectantly and Liam goes to him, mostly on autopilot. He sits next to him on the familiar green comforter and tries to bring his heart rate down. For the next twenty minutes, Zayn shows him his drawings, and Liam’s panic, and erection, both subside. 

Liam desperately hopes they’re both gone for good. 

* * *

For the next two days, some of Liam’s time is spent discovering - or rediscovering he supposes, the textures of the world around him. But, most of his time is spent reliving those few extraordinary moments in Zayn’s room. While processing every new sensation, he finds himself using Zayn as his frame of reference. 

The grass under Zayn’s favorite tree, faded green with spots of brown now, is prickly and stiff. It’s nothing like the stubble on Zayn’s jaw that looks rough, but moves under Liam’s fingertips so easily, warming them with friction. In the pottery room, the clay Zayn uses is powdery and dry at first. But, then he adds water and drops it to the wheel, instructing Liam to sit in front of him and mold it while it spins, their hands tangled together. Then it’s wet and smooth, and warming with each turn of the wheel. Until all Liam can think about is the press of Zayn’s chest to his back and the memory of the pad of his finger trapped in Zayn’s mouth. 

They end up having to scrap that pottery project. 

Liam’s all but given up on experiencing anything that will leave him more affected than Zayn, until Niall sweeps into the flat with a bang of the front door, and he shouts for everyone to meet him in the living room. 

Despite the fact that only two people live in the flat, all five of the boys are there. Liam and Zayn come into the living room together from the balcony, and Harry and Louis come out of the bathroom and meet them. Harry’s hair is soaking wet and looks a bit uneven on one side, like maybe Louis had been cutting it. No one comments on it, it’s just better that way. 

Niall is not alone in the living room, Liam realises as soon as he spots him. Standing next to him is a small woman in a dark blue dress, littered with sparkly starbursts. Her hair, dark brown and braided in two plaits that fall almost to her waist, hold little star clips that sparkle and shine as well. She smiles at him warmly, and he startles a little at the fact that she can see him. 

“This is Vadoma,” Niall says, wrapping a hand around her waist and pulling her to his side. “My girlfriend and all around knower of all things.” 

The other boys have obviously met her before. They each take turns giving her a hug and kissing cheeks, welcoming her. It takes a couple of minutes for them to all get settled and sit down, during which time Liam simply stares. 

Niall procures a chair for her opposite the couch and Vadoma sits down, becoming the head of their small circle. All eyes turn to her. 

“So,” Vadoma says, folding her hands neatly in her lap and pining Liam with a warm but expectant look, “You’re Liam.” 

Liam nods slowly. Zayn’s arm is warm and reassuring pressed up against his side. It helps immensely. “Yeah. I am.” 

“Well, Liam,” Vadoma says briskly, shaking her head a little and making the hoops in her ears jangle, “You are not a spirit.” 

“I’m not?” Liam asks, voice cracking. 

“No,” Vadoma says firmly. “You are lost. But you are not dead my dear.” 

Liam looks around the room at the other boys. Harry and Louis are sat practically on top of each other to his left, watching her with wide, interested eyes. Niall, sat to Vadoma’s right, is watching her with a soft expression that Liam’s never seen him use before. Zayn, to Liam’s right, is watching him carefully. 

None of them seem to doubt what she’s saying, which Liam supposes is reassuring. 

“So, what does that mean?” Liam asks finally. “How am I lost?” 

“Do you know anything about your past?” Vadoma asks, voice soft and reassuring. 

Liam starts shaking his head but Harry cuts across him, sitting up abruptly and nearly sending Louis sailing off the couch. “Oh! I’ve got research!” 

He extracts himself from his seating arrangement, taking a second to kiss Louis on the cheek, and then rushes to the front door. He plops back down on the couch, just a second later, with his backpack and starts pulling out folders. 

“Just give me one minute to find it,” Harry mumbles, furrowing his brow. “Ah! Here it is.” 

From a purple folder, Harry pulls out a packet of typed paper and waves it around. “I’ve been working on this in between classes,” he explains. He smiles at Liam sheepishly. “I hope that’s okay.” 

Liam feels a rush of adoration for him so strong it's hard not to pull him into a hug. “Of course, thanks H.” 

Harry waves him away, and Louis pokes at his dimple, obviously trying to get him to carry on. “No problem, Lima Bean. So this is what I found: 

_‘Liam Payne, son Geoff Payne, the billionaire philanthropist and founder of Partem University, mysteriously disappeared during the last year of his bachelor's program at the aforementioned university in 1885._

_Not much can be found regarding Liam’s personal life. School records show, however, that he was an exemplary student with a record of perfect marks that can be traced to his time in primary school._

_At the time of his disappearance, Geoff Payne offered a large sum of money for the safe return of his son, to no end. It seems the story of Liam Payne is destined to remain a mystery forever more.’_

Harry gets to the end of the blurb and looks up at Liam with a cautious expression. His shoulders are hunched in, and his hand not clenched around the papers is opening and closing into a fist. Liam realises Harry’s nervous about his reaction. 

“Thanks, H,” Liam says again, voice as firm as it can be with the little quiver it’s acquired. “Thank you for looking this up, really.” 

The line of Harry’s shoulders relaxes a bit and he nods, smiling sadly, “Yeah, of course.” 

A beat passes, and then collectively they all turn back to Vadoma. She’s still as relaxed and poised as before, but her gaze is intense like she never misses a thing. 

“Do you remember any of that?” she asks softly

“Your dad’s name maybe?” Zayn adds, tilting his head so he can watch Liam’s expression. “Your family?” 

A lump forms in Liam’s throat and he tries to swallow it away. He shakes his head and drags a hand over his face. “No, nothing.” 

“Well, that’s to be expected isn’t it,” Louis says loudly, startling Liam just a little. He does that sometimes, Louis: startles everyone in the room. Probably on purpose. “It’s not like he’s going to read a bit about himself and all of a sudden remember everything and be- healed or whatever it is we’re trying to do. Nothing’s that easy, is it? That’s fine, Liam.” 

Louis’ defense, loud, stern, and a little unnecessary, have tears pricking at Liam’s eyes. He blinks them back, after taking a second to identify what he’s feeling, and looks towards the floor. 

Zayn leans into him a little, pressing his arm against him further. It’s grounding, comforting. Like being in the library in the middle of the night with only the soft hum of the computers and the books as company.

“That’s very true,” Vadoma confirms. _“_ Liam, I would like to try something if you’d be open to it. A reading.” 

Liam looks over at Zayn. He gives him a small smile and nods in encouragement, so Liam shrugs. “Sure. I don’t have any idea what that is, but sure.” 

Vadoma smiles brightly, and Liam is astounded a little by how beautiful she is. Niall must see it on his face because he snorts and wiggles his eyebrows at him. 

“Alright then,” she says, standing up and waving her hand at Harry and Louis, “I’ll need you two layabouts to get up.” 

They do as they’re told, with a little grumbling from Harry and a murmured something from Louis that sounds like _no appreciation around here,_ and Vadoma takes their spot. Turning towards Liam, she smoothes her skirt out over her lap and places her hands on top, palm up. It’s meant to be an invitation obviously, so Liam mirrors her posture and turns on the couch, but hesitates. 

“What’s going to happen?” 

Vadoma’s eyes, framed by mile long dark lashes and lined with thick black pencil, never leave his face. 

“I’m going to read your energy,” she explains softly, “And maybe I’ll learn a little about your past as well. These things are tricky, you get what you get.” 

Liam wets his lips and nods. “Okay.” 

Slowly, he places his hands in hers. She’s warm, and her hands are very soft. It dawns on him that he rather the rough feel of Zayn’s calloused palms, and he doesn’t really know what to do with that information. 

“Well, well,” Vadoma says with smirk, “Liam, my dear. It seems you and I are more alike than I realised.” 

“Alike,” Liam repeats dubiously. His eyes sweep over her long braids and sparkly dress. Maybe alike is one of those words that has changed with time. Like Louis had taught him about ‘sick’. “You and I?” 

“Yes,” Vadoma confirms. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “You were- are an empath. Low level, you might not have even noticed while your soul and body were partnered. But, now that your soul is adrift, I would assume you feel more of it now.” 

Liam furrows his brow and looks up, meeting Niall’s gaze. 

Niall laughs. “She says stuff like that all the time, mate. You get used to it.” 

“No you don’t,” Harry says, shaking his head. 

Zayn snorts. 

“Have you been feeling other people’s emotions?” Vadoma opens her eyes and continues as if no one had said a thing. “That you’ve noticed at least.” 

Liam shifts a little on the couch, keeping his hands in hers. He thinks about the weird things he’s been feeling. 

“Well,” Liam says slowly, “Well, I once thought I was in love with a woman.” 

Zayn stiffens beside him. 

“Gross,” Louis drawls. Niall punches him. 

“No,” Liam says quickly, shaking his head. “No, I mean. I didn’t love her... I saw a professor drawing a picture of her, and while I was standing there I felt like I was in love. But when he walked away, I felt nothing at all. It was very strange.” 

Vadoma doesn’t seem to think it’s strange at all. “Just as I thought, you were feeling his love for her. Perhaps your medium is artistic expression; have you read others while they were creating?” 

Liam dithers over that one. He’s never spoken to Zayn about the time he’d sat next to him by the tree, and felt those waves of oppression closing in. But now, with this new information, he’s almost 100% sure that what he’d felt that day was very much like the feelings he has, that send him back to pacing in the library. He’s not sure it’s a topic he should bring up, though. It seems personal, raw. Vulnerable. 

“I-It’s not just drawing,” Liam says, working out how best to phrase it. “When I sit with someone who is sketching, or sculpting, I sometimes feel what they are feeling.” 

Louis looks at Zayn sharply, holding his gaze with a concerned expression. Liam doesn’t turn, but he can feel Zayn next to him, unnaturally still, and he wonders if he’s trying not to show any reaction. 

“Hmm, yes,” Vadoma says, with a little nod. “Let’s see what else we’ll be shown.” 

She closes her eyes again and silence falls over the room for several seconds, during which Liam tries not to fidget too much. Harry is squirmy too, but before he can wiggle off the couch, or something equally Harry like, Vadoma sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Oh,” she says with a deep sigh, “There’s such sadness here.” 

Liam’s heart sinks. He knows what she’s seeing, he thinks. The time before Zayn, when everything was dull and cold. He remembers that time, although he wishes he didn’t, and he’s sure the misty years that ghost the edges of his memories only hold more of the same. 

“Zayn said he was lonely,” Niall says softly. “When we first talked about-” 

“No,” Vadoma says sadly, cutting across him with a shake of her head. She opens her eyes and they glitter with unshed tears. “This is from before. This is from your time. This is why you were able to lose yourself, there’s no anchor.” 

Zayn shifts beside him and drapes his arm over Liam’s chest, pulling him flush against him. Like second nature, Liam presses his lips to the crook of of Zayn’s arm. Vadoma watches the movement and glances away, a smile playing on her lips. Gently, she pulls her hands away. 

“So,” she says briskly, standing up and moving back to her seat, “You’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

Liam sits up a little straighter but doesn’t pull away from Zayn, not quite ready to let go of the comfort of his arm wrapped around him securely. “What kind of work?” 

“Finding yourself work,” Harry says, looking to Vadoma, “Right?” 

“Right,” she confirms, taking the hand Niall offers her and lacing their fingers together in her lap. “I haven’t helped someone like you, but there are stories, this is not the first occurrence. People sometimes appear to be from a different time or seem to have not aged-” 

“Anne Hathaway! I told you,” Harry hisses at Louis. 

Vadoma smirks. “You’ll need to find out who you are, and as you do, your body and soul will become one again. You’re corporeal, so you’re already on your way.” 

Liam’s brain feels sluggish, weighed down by all this new information. But suddenly, everything starts making sense. 

“I couldn’t really smell things,” he says slowly. Absentmindedly he brings his hand up and wraps his fingers around Zayn’s forearms. “Not until I realised I liked being around Niall and Zayn when they lay on the floor and smoke weed.” 

Louis laughs. “Well that's convenient as it’s one of their favorite pastimes.” 

Zayn chuckles too, so close that his breath puffs warms against Liam’s ear. He shivers. 

Vadoma nods, encouraging him on. 

“And- and I couldn’t touch things until Louis brought me to his drama class.” Liam looks up at Louis and blinks. “We were talking about me wanting to act.” 

“See,” Vadoma says excitedly, “What about now? You’ve just learned you aren’t a spirit, and a little bit about your past. Do you feel anything now?” 

Liam sits back, letting his full weight fall against Zayn’s chest, and contemplates for a moment. Then he lets out a surprised laugh, turning to Zayn in disbelief. 

“I think I’m hungry.” 

“Oh thank god,” Niall says, standing up, pulling Vadoma with him. “I’ve been ready to eat my own hand for an hour now. I’ll get the takeaway menus.” 

He walks towards the kitchen, Vadoma following along behind with a serene smile, and Louis and Harry follow. Zayn lets his arm drop and nudges at Liam until he shifts around and they’re facing each other. 

“You alright?” 

Liam takes a deep breath. “Yeah, it’s just..”

Zayn nods. “Yeah, I bet,” he takes Liam’s hand and squeezes. “Want a breather?” 

Yes, that is absolutely what Liam wants, but he also wants to stay here, close to Zayn with their hands wrapped up together. He looks down, chewing on his lip. 

“I can come, if you want,” Zayn tries, tilting Liam’s chin up with his knuckle. “We can go up on the roof and just get some air while they figure out the food.” 

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, nearly blinded by Zayn’s responding smile, “I’d like that.” 

* * *

It’s cold on the roof; the walls are low and provide very little protection from the December wind. Liam’s not yet used to thinking about how the weather will affect him, but luckily Zayn had put him in one of his extra coats and shoved a hat on his head, before leading him up the side stairwell. As a gust of wind rakes over him, stinging his cheeks and trying to steal his breath away, Liam is incredibly grateful for the added layers. 

Zayn brings him around the left side, to a few chairs that are set up in a little group around an overturned crate and a metal contraption that Liam can’t identify. 

“Here, sit,” Zayn says, indicating to one of the chairs with his chin. “I’ll start this.” 

Liam sits down in the lawn chair warily, it doesn’t look like the most sturdy of things, and watches Zayn work. The sun is setting behind him, shadowing his face and painting the sky a watercolour blend of purples and reds. He looks like art, like someone reached down from the clouds and painted him just for Liam. 

The crate, as it turns out, is turned over to protect a pile of newspapers. Zayn pulls a few out and tosses them in the metal bowl, and then separates one piece, twisting it around into a sphere. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his lighter, Liam’s favorite one with the Batman logo on it, and lights the sphere on fire. 

“There we go,” Zayn says, tossing it in with the rest of newspaper. He sits down next to Liam and shoves his hands in his pockets. “That’s better.” 

“Is this safe?” Liam asks suspiciously. “I don’t know that open fire like this is safe.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Yes, fun police, it’s safe. I’ve got an extinguisher behind the door.” 

Liam wants to point out that being able to put out an out of control fire doesn’t necessarily equal safety, but Zayn narrows his eyes at him like he knows, and starts talking again. 

“So, I guess I really can’t call you a hallucination anymore, huh?” 

“What a shame,” Liam intones. “It’s such a lovely pet name.” 

Zayn laughs, pulling his hood up and squirming down a little further into his coat. “I could tell you really liked it.” 

Liam rolls his eyes. “Obviously you’ve got a really firm understanding of what I like.” 

A beat passes and something in the air around them shifts. Liam looks away from the fire and at Zayn, who he finds staring at him already. 

“I think I might,” Zayn says lowly. 

The fire crackles between them, the light dances in Zayn’s eyes, and Liam has to look away. His mouth has gone dry and his heart doesn’t seem to remember to which rhythm it's supposed to beat. 

“Do you want to talk about,” Zayn starts, pausing to wave his hand around. “All that from before. With Vadoma. You know?” 

Liam sighs. “I think the worst part is finding out I was lonely before,” he admits. “I hadn’t really thought about it, I guess. But, knowing that it's been this way for… well, forever for me. It’s upsetting.” 

Zayn pulls his hands from his pockets and leans forward, dropping his elbows onto his thighs. He’s got the lighter out and he runs his fingers over it, absentmindedly. “I know it wasn’t your fault, for whatever it’s worth. Whatever the reason you were alone, I know it wasn’t because of something you did.” 

Liam turns back to the fire and swallows. “How could you know that?” 

“I just do,” Zayn says, voice firm but quiet. “You’re the gentlest person I know. You’d never hurt someone, not physically, not emotionally. You’re soft and sweet and- and brave. If you were alone it’s because the people in your life were worthless.” 

Liam’s throat aches and before he realises what's happening, a tear slides down his cheek. He reaches up with his trembling hand and wipes it away; its warm on the tip of his finger, wet when he rubs his thumb against it. “I don’t feel alone anymore.” 

Zayn’s reaches over and takes his hand. “You’re not.” 

* * *

They spend a few more moments on the roof together. By the time Liam’s tears have dried, and all of their fingers have practically frozen off, the sun has set and the moon’s light is shimmering through the clouds. They extinguish the fire, which takes a bit of time because Liam finds the fire extinguisher really fucking brill, and then head back to the flat. 

The dining room table, when they walk in, is like nothing Liam has ever seen before. There are white, square boxes covering the entire surface. The smell is divine, rich and a little spicy, filling the entire room. Liam can’t place it, but it makes his mouth water instantly. Harry and Louis look a bit bashful but Niall looks absolutely delighted. 

Liam slowly takes off his, _Zayn’s,_ coat and hat, and hangs them on the back of the closest chair. “Oh my, golly golly gosh.” 

Louis chokes on his beer. “Language, please Liam,” he gasps out as Harry pounds on his back. 

Standing at the head of the table with a smile, Niall waves a hand in the space before him, indicating the food. “We realised we had no idea what kind of pizza you like. Do you even know?” 

“Huh,” Liam says, thinking about it, “I guess, I don’t.” 

“So,” Zayn says slowly, moving around Liam to toss his coat on the chair as well, “What did you do, buy every kind?” 

“Not every kind,” Vadoma says, walking out of the kitchen with her arms full of paper plates and silverware. “Just the main ones- plain, pepperoni, sweet corn, pineapple, and jalapenos.”

Zayn shakes his head and walks into the kitchen, tugging Liam along with him by his shirt sleeve. “Come on, I’ve got to wash my hands.” 

“Do you think we’re going to eat all of that,” Liam asks, watching Zayn shove his sleeves up to his elbows. “That seems like an awful lot.” 

“Maybe.” Hands full of bubbles, Zayn hesitates for a second and then grabs Liam’s wrist and pulls him in front of the sink. He stands behind Liam, boxing him in and putting their hands together under the tap. “It depends on how Niall’s feeling, really. And who knows how much you like to eat.” 

“Oh,” Liam says, surprised by both the action and the warm water suddenly running over his hands. The water after the pottery debacle had been freezing. “That feels nice.”

“Mmhmm,” Zayn hums, his chest rumbles with it and Liam shifts a little, feeling a flush creep up his neck. 

“You don’t have to help,” Liam says softly, watching Zayn’s fingers slide through the bubbles and twist through his own. “I can do some things.”

The scent of the fire has clung to Zayn and it drifts around Liam, he resists the urge to turn his head and press his nose to his hair and inhale. 

“I know,” Zayn says. His body moves in a way that Liam thinks means he’s shrugged. “I like it. I like helping you.” 

Zayn’s fingers are rough and calloused but his touch is gentle. Liam’s mind starts to drift a little to thoughts of Zayn’s hands drawing lazy shapes against his skin. The tap shutting off with a click snaps him out of it before he can embarrass himself with another inconvenient erection. 

Zayn dries his hands with a dish towel and then tosses it to Liam. He stands against the counter and watches Liam dry his own hands with a strange intensity that doesn’t help the hot flush Liam’s been fighting back. 

Seemingly done with the incredibly distracting hand washing, Zayn heads out to the dining room and finds a chair. Liam follows his lead, sitting next to him. The chairs scrape against the floor as everyone pulls them away from the table, sitting down and reaching for the boxes. As Liam watches, their arms tangle over the food, their laughter and chatter flows endlessly, bouncing happily off the walls. It’s loud and joyous, barely contained chaos, and Liam knows that at one point he might have been overwhelmed, but now he just feels happy. 

Zayn gets his attention with a soft tap to his arm. “What do you want to start with?” 

Liam shakes his head. “I have absolutely not a clue.” 

“Do you know what pizza is?” Harry asks, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Have you seen it before?”

Liam tries not to bristle. It’s hard not to feel like your intelligence is constantly being called into question when you’re learning about the world all over again. Plus, Liam thinks, his irritation might have something to do with the hunger. 

“I know, yeah,” Liam says. “I’ve never had it before, obviously, but I’ve seen other people eat it. I don’t know which kind I’d like.” 

“Well,” Zayn says, sliding a plate in front of each of them, “My mum always says you won’t know if you like something unless you try it. So how about a bit of each?” 

“Alright,” Liam says with a nod. 

Zayn opens the box closest to them and pulls out one of the triangular slices, putting one first on his plate then another on Liam’s. “We’ll start with just cheese.” 

The conversation around the table never slows or dims, and Liam is grateful for that. There’s a low hum of nervousness in his stomach and he’d rather not know what would happen if everyone were to turn and watch. Zayn’s eyes are on him, but that’s alright. That’s always alright. 

“Alright,” Zayn says, turning his chair so he’s facing Liam a bit more. “There’s a lot of ways to go about eating this. Some people use a fork and knife-”

“Not in this house they don’t,” Niall grumbles. 

Zayn smiles, scrunching his nose and stopping Liam’s heart for a second. “Yeah, we don’t do that. But some people do. What I do is fold it from the crust, and eat from the end.” 

Liam watches him carefully as he picks up his pizza, folds it in half, and leans over his plate a little to take a bite. 

“Like that,” Zayn says around a mouthful. 

Well, Liam supposes, that doesn’t look too hard. He rubs his hands over his thighs nervously, but his stomach rumbles, making itself a priority. 

The crust is warm and malleable, it’s coated in a fine layer of dust that Liam rolls under his fingertips before folding it up like Zayn had. A drop of oil, orange and swift moving, rolls down the cheese and onto the plate. The smell is intoxicating. 

“Good thing it’s just as good cold,” Louis quips. “You’re supposed to eat it not-” 

There’s a loud thump under the table and Louis groans. Probably Zayn’s kicked him. Zayn’s lovely. Liam glances up at him, making a face that he’s pretty sure expresses that sentiment, and then takes a bite. 

“Oh my God,” he says softly, “That’s the best thing in the whole world.” 

Zayn laughs. “I’m not sure you’re in the position to make that kind of statement, mate.” 

Well, Liam supposes that’s true, but there’s very little chance that anything tastes better than this. The crust is crispy, crunches just a bit under his teeth, but the cheese is soft and smooth. There’s salt in the sauce and a bit of tang and it’s just so _good_. 

“You know,” Harry says excitedly, “I just saw a documentary on pizza the other day.”

The information is met with a mixed reaction of groans, deep sighs, and one lone “tell us all about it, love” murmured in a love sick kind of voice. 

Harry, obviously only needing that one bit of encouragement, launches into a speech detailing the art of pizza making. He’s about half way through when Liam finishes his slice. 

“Do you want another?” Zayn asks before Liam’s even finished chewing. He’s always watching Liam in an non invasive way that leaves Liam feeling cared for. “We can try another kind.” 

“Yeah,” Liam agrees quietly, not wanting to interrupt Harry. Partly because it would be rude and partly because Harry tends to get miffed and start all over if someone cuts in. 

“Pepperoni?” Zayn nudges his chin towards the box. “I don’t eat it, but I can give you a slice, obviously.” 

“Why don’t you?” Liam asks, cleaning his hands on a napkin. Pizza is messy but so very worth it, as far as Liam’s concerned. 

“I’m Muslim,” Zayn says. “No pork for me. Do you want it?” 

It looks tasty enough, but something about trying something on his own makes him feel a little twinge of nerves. It’s probably ridiculous but he shakes his head anyway. Zayn hesitates, watching him for a couple seconds and then closes the box, opening another. 

“Alright, pineapple it is.” 

Liam’s just gotten through his fourth slice of pizza and second documentary synopsis, when his experience with eating is changed all over again. 

With a promise of a surprise, Niall demands they stack up the pizza boxes to make room and heads into the kitchen. He comes back out with a white, square box that makes Vadoma clap and Harry cheer. 

Liam looks to Zayn questiongly and he winks. “You’ll see.” 

Setting it in the middle of the table, Niall opens the top. Liam leans forward a little bit so he can see inside and smiles. “Proiteroles!” 

“You know what they are,” Niall huffs, crossing his arms. “I wanted to take your virginity.” 

The entire room freezes like its been dropped in a vat of liquid nitrogen. Seven full seconds pass in silence so complete, Liam thinks he might actually be able to hear Zayn’s eyelashes cutting through the air every time he blinks. 

“I’ve had them,” Liam says, clearing his throat and ignoring how hot his face has gone. “They aren’t a modern thing. They’re- I’ve had them. I remember them.” 

Vadoma, a kind, and merciful woman Liam decides, follows his detour, “Do you remember any other food? Maybe these remind you of something important from your past.” 

Liam leans back in his chair and thinks. It’s a weird process, trying to remember things from his past. A lot of things seem to be just at the edge of his mind, right on the tip of his tongue. 

“Tea,” he says eventually. “I remember the taste of tea.” 

“Of course you do,” Louis nods, clearly approving. He reaches across the table and using a serving spoon, scoops two onto first his and then Zayn’s plate. “You might be some kind of weird ghost, but you’re still English aren’t you?” 

Profiteroles taste better than Liam remembers. The pastry is light and flaky and the chocolate is thick and sweet. As it hits his tongue, a memory flashes quickly through Liam’s consciousness; a middle-aged woman, smiling and beautiful with brown curls piled up on her head, wiping the chocolate off her hands and shaking her head. It’s gone as quickly as its come and Liam blinks in the aftermath, feeling a little dazed. 

“Do you like it?” Zayn asks, startling him. 

Liam drops the pastry and makes a grab for it to keep it from hitting the floor. He gets it, but he sighs at his chocolate filled hands. “What a mess.” 

Zayn snorts, rolling his eyes, “You could stand to get a bit messy.” Taking a pastry from his own plate he grins and tosses at Liam. 

Spurred on only by an intense desire to keep Vadoma right side from being assaulted via dessert, Liam manages to grab it from the air with his left hand. 

Looking down at his chocolate covered hands, and the flakes of pastry across his lap, he sighs and narrows his eyes at Zayn. “Messy enough?” 

“Nope,” Zayn says immediately, with another grin that Liam is starting to associated with rotten behavior. Lightning quick, he reaches his hand out, smears some of the chocolate in Liam’s hand onto his own fingertips and then leans forward with it towards Liam’s face. 

Later, during a thoroughly reflective shower, remembering the next thing he does makes his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Because Zayn’s intention is probably to get chocolate all over Liam’s cheeks, but he doesn’t let Zayn do that. Instead, Liam makes everything incredibly weird by tilting forward and taking Zayn’s fingers into his mouth, like he’s offered them everyday. 

Zayn inhales sharply as Harry starts coughing violently. Vadoma murmurs “oh my”, ever so quietly. And Liam…Liam sucks. 

Using some kind of instinct Liam’s never even been aware of, he closes his eyes and works his tongue over and between Zayn’s fingers, licking them clean. He bites down, just a tiny bit on Zayn’s knuckle, and he’s rewarded with a little push further into his mouth. Suddenly, he wants them deeper. Deeper and wider. He wants Zayn to spread his fingers, to add more, to fill his mouth completely until spit is dripping down his chin sloppily. 

“If you wouldn’t mind keeping the wanton moaning to a minimum while I’m eating,” Louis says casually around a mouthful. “It’s only I’d rather not have all this come right back up. Waste of money and all that.” 

Liam comes back to himself like someone’s hooked a line to his belt and is dragging him through the water at top speed. He yanks his mouth away and flies backward, slamming his back into the chair. 

“I don’t-” he pants, shaking his head with wide eyes. “I don’t know what that was. I’m sorry.” 

Zayn looks away from him, shifting around in his chair. “Maybe you’re more of a fan of chocolate than you realised.” 

Louis opens his mouth but Harry clamps his hand over it, firmly. 

Harry’s lovely too.

* * *

Despite having what Louis likes to call his brand new, fresh out of the box, real boy body, Liam does not sleep. He’s never slept before, so it’s not something he feels he’s missing out on. But, now that he can’t simply pop in and out of space and time, he’s more aware of the time he spends awake while the other boys are tucked away. 

At first he’d occupied his time by roaming around the flat, strolling from room to room and investigating his surroundings silently. But, after a complaint from a sleep deprived downstairs neighbour, he’d had to stop that. It’s a little boring, watching late night tv adverts all on his own, but he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t want to bother anyone with such a little issue. But each night, the little issue starts to feel a little bigger. He feels more and more restless. Caged in. Cooped up. 

Somehow, Vadoma knows.

“Hello, my dear,” she greets, coming through the front door. “How’s life on the solid side?” 

Liam, elbow deep in hot dishwater, smiles at her over his shoulder. “Pretty good. Had an ice cream cone today.”

Vadoma nods solemnly. “One of life’s most important pleasures.” 

Liam rinses his hands and turns to her, drying his hands on a dish towel. He nudges his chin in the direction of her green velvet dress. “You look very pretty.”

“You always say that,” she says, blushing prettily, but tilting her head a little in a way that Liam is fairly certain is supposed to draw attention to her silver, dangly earrings. 

“It’s always true,” Liam says with a shrug. “Pretty earrings too. New?”

She nods, pleased. “Niall got them for me.”

“Presents,” Liam confirms, “My favorite.”

Vadoma lights up and swings her large black bag onto the kitchen table. “Good! I’ve got some for you too!”

Liam’s not sure how he’d look in dangly earrings, and his ears aren’t even pierced, but a gift is such a thoughtful thing and he doesn’t want to offend her.

“Liam,” Vadoma says with a tinkling laugh, interrupting his inner struggle, “I meant a present, not a set of earrings. You should see the look on your face!” 

Oh. Well that’s certainly a relief. “What kind of present?”

Liam watches as she opens the bag and pulls out a large pad similar to the ones Zayn has in seemingly every corner of the flat, and a set of pencils. 

She places her palm on the pad and regards him with a soft smile. “I’ve been having some restless nights.”

Confused, Liam furrows his brow. “Oh?”

“Mmhmm,” Vadoma continues, “I can’t seem to get a full night's rest. These things happen of course. Our bodies shift with the tides of the ocean, the pull of the moon, the emotional state of those around us. It’s just a matter of refocusing unbalanced energy. When I sat down today to take stock of my energy, I realised where the imbalance is coming from.”

Liam slips down into one of the chairs and stares at her, enthralled. “Where?”

“You.”

Liam sits up taller, startled. He doesn’t feel...imbalanced. Although, it stands to reason that he might not have ever been balanced and he’s got nothing to compare to. Either way, he feels kind of bad. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She waves him a way with a _tsk_. “Nothing you can do about it, love. Not on your own anyway. That’s why I brought this.” She pats the pad and gives him a little smug smile. “I feel a lot of pent about creativity around you. I think you should give yourself an outlet and see how it goes.” 

Liam eyes the pencils apprehensively. “I’ve never drawn anything, I’m probably rubbish.” 

“Yes, most likey,” Vadoma confirms breezily. “But I won’t be grading you. What’s there to lose?” 

Liam thinks that over for a moment and supposes it’s true. She’s not asking him to walk the plank like in that silly movie Louis loves with the ticking crocodile. This is just drawing, he can handle that. 

“Thank you,” Liam says at last, “For the present and the suggestion. You’re lovely, you know?” 

Vadoma sighs happily, eyes twinkling. “I am, aren’t I?” 

“You’re late is what you are,” Niall grumbles from the doorway of the kitchen. Liam looks up and tries desperately to hide his smirk at Niall’s grumpy expression. “All the good seats will be taken.” 

“I got here right on time,” Vadoma says, getting up from her chair and rolling her eyes. “I’ll point out that you’ve not finished getting dressed, while we’re tossing around blame.” 

Niall pouts and crosses his arms. The smirk gets harder for Liam to conceal. “I’ve been waiting on you, haven’t I. I need help picking a shirt.” 

Vadoma crosses the kitchen, stopping at Niall’s side to give him a pat on the cheek. “I’m sorry, love. I’m all yours now.” 

Niall grumbles a little more but allows her to take his hand. They’re only a few steps into the hall when Vadoma stops and looks over her shoulder at Liam.

“It’s Peter Pan,” she says.

Liam furrows his brow. “What is?” 

“The movie,” Vadoma says, raising a brow. “The one you were thinking of. It’s Peter Pan.” 

With a wink, she turns back around and heads down the hall, pulling Niall along behind her. Liam stares after her in amazement for several minutes. 

She’s a strange woman but she means well, Liam thinks, running his fingers over the glossy cover of the drawing pad. He, like probably everyone else in her life, trusts her. Plus, she’s right that he’s got nothing to lose. 

So, he gently flips open the cover of the pad and folds it behind. Then he opens up the package, picks a pencil and drags it across the page, getting a feel for the way the graphite moves against the paper, how the pencil fits in his fingers. Although he can’t remember ever holding a pencil, let alone sketching, the picture pours out onto the paper like honey from a jar. It’s a slow process, but smooth and natural- one he gets lost in.

When he looks up again, Niall is standing fully dressed in the doorway with Vadoma, and when he follows their eyes back down to his page, he finds an entire portrait sketched out. 

“Did you do that?” 

Liam snaps his head up at the awe in Niall’s voice. “I- well. Yeah, I guess I did.” 

Niall takes a step into the kitchen and Vadoma puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going downstairs, okay?” 

Niall nods and comes to sit across from Liam. “Can I see it?” 

His voice is soft and reassuring. Liam wants to think that he doesn’t need it, that it’s just a drawing and there’s no reason to make a big deal. But something about the gray smudges and lines feels intimate, like he’s telling his deepest secrets. And he knows that he does need that reassurance. How Niall knows is anyone’s guess, maybe Vadoma is rubbing off on him. 

Liam takes a steadying breath and nods. He slides the pad across the table and lets Niall pull it in front of himself. 

Niall studies it silently for a few moments and then looks up, expression careful. “Have you ever done anything like this before?” 

Liam shakes his head immediately and then pauses. “Well, I don’t think so. I haven’t since…”

“Since you became a real boy,” Niall guesses, smirking. 

“Yes, Niall,” Liam grumbles, “Since I became a real boy.” 

Niall chuckles to himself and looks back down at the drawing. As Liam watches, Niall drags his fingertips gently over the pencil marks. 

“Who is she?” Niall asks, looking up again. “She’s very pretty.” 

Liam shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

And he doesn’t, not really. There’s a feeling he has, a familiarity, but nothing solid. And there’s a nudge at the corner of his brain, something tugging at an old memory. But it’s not anything that he can explain. Not anything he’d really like to try explaining right now anyway. 

“This is incredible work, Liam,” Niall says, furrowing his brow when Liam looks down and shakes his head. “No. Liam. This is incredible. Do you think I’d lie?” 

Liam looks up quickly, aghast. “No! No, I don’t think you’re a liar, Niall. I just- I just think you’re being nice. You know, trying to make me feel good.” 

Niall leans forward in his chair, meeting Liam’s gaze and holding it seriously. “Look, my Nan always told me there’s a voice inside everyone’s head that says they’re not good enough, that they’ve not done a good enough job. And my Nan said that voice is a fucking liar. She knew everything, my Nan, so I do too by extension, so you’d better listen to me.” 

“Everyone says that,” Liam says softly. Niall makes a confused kind of face and Liam continues on. “Everyone says that I should listen to you. Harry and Louis and Zayn.” 

Niall leans back in the chair and gives him a bland look. “Of course they do, Liam. I’m obviously the smartest, aren’t I?” 

Liam blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, probably.” 

Niall smiles and raps the table with his knuckle. “That’s right. I am undoubtedly the smartest of this tribe and I declare this art incredible. Don’t argue with me, it will set me off my dinner and then we’ll have a serious problem, Payne.” 

“That’s me told,” Liam says, laughing softly. 

Niall has a way of opening someone up, rooting around in their emotions for a while, and then stitching them back up neatly and sending them on their way none the wiser. Liam watches him get up from the table and plant a kiss on his cheek, the entire time thinking he’s so glad he gets to be his friend. 

* * *

Four nights later, when the flat is silent, save for the sounds of the sleeping boys, Liam starts what has become his nightly ritual. From the drawer by the fridge that previously held dozens of copies of the same take out menu and random rubbish, he pulls out his pad and pencils and sits at the table. He likes sketching, likes the feel of the paper, likes the way his mind seems to take over. It gives him something to do while the world lays quiet around him, and he feels lighter after, like he’s set down a weight he’d not known he was carrying. 

He knows who he’ll draw before he even flips to a fresh page. When Zayn had seen her, his expression was resolutely neutral except for a tick in his jaw that probably only Liam noticed. He’d relaxed though, when Liam had explained that the woman felt maternal to him, that even though he couldn’t be sure, he thought maybe she was his mother. 

Harry hadn’t been able to find any pictures of his mother in her adult years, only some from her childhood. Liam thinks about the way the little girl’s nose had curved just a bit at the end, while he sketches the adult on his page with the same little curve, and decides once again that it’s definitely her. 

He’s just finished the waves of her hair when the sky starts to pinken around the rise of the sun. Leaning back in his chair, he eyes the drawing pad with a small smile. 

“Hi, mum,” he whispers. 

She doesn’t answer, a fact that Louis had been loudly relieved about the day before, but he feels like maybe wherever she is, she can hear him. Stranger things have happened, Liam reasons. 

“Niall tried baking a pie today,” he confides, scrunching up his nose at the memory of the burnt smell. “It didn’t go well.” 

He spots some eraser bits by her chin and brushes them off gently. “Harry says it’s beginner’s bad luck. But I’m fairly certain beginners are supposed to have _good_ luck. Zayn agrees but we decided to let it go. The pie fire was probably blow enough to his ego.” 

A little bird lands on the ledge by the kitchen window. Liam watches it hop around for a few moments. When it finds nothing interesting, it flies away and Liam turns back to the sketch, looking at her kind eyes. 

“I’m okay. I want you to know that,” Liam says, swallowing around the lump in his throat, “I’m..well I’m safe. And I’ve got friends, real friends, a bunch of them. I don’t think I had that before. I keep having a little fuzzy memory of a sad birthday… but I can’t be sure. Either way, it’s not like that now, mum. I’ve got the boys and- and I’m happy.” 

Tears swim in his eyes, blurring the sketch and surprising him. He lets them fall for a moment, sad for his forgotten past and happy for his amazing present. Then with one last smile to her, he stands up and starts setting up the coffee pot. 

His boys will be up soon. 

* * *

Harry, wonderful as he is, has some not wonderful habits. For instance, he seems to think nothing of laying out on any surface in the flat, and upon deciding he needs Liam, tipping his head back and screaming for him at the very top of his voice. He’s got perfectly functional legs, even if he trips over his feet quite often, so Liam’s not sure why he feels the need to do this. Niall’s not sure either. But Zayn, when Liam had asked him, said that he thinks Louis has turned Harry into a spoiled brat. Liam thinks that if that’s true, it probably doesn’t help the situation that he always goes to him. 

“Why are you laying on the floor?” Liam says, kicking at Harry’s leg. “The kitchen is too cold, you’re going to get sick.”

Instead of getting up like Liam would really like him to do, Harry just reaches out and grabs hold of Liam’s ankle. “Whose socks are these?” 

Liam looks down at his feet clad in black socks covered in large, pastel coloured circles, and wiggles his toes. “Niall’s.” 

Part of being corporal is having to worry about things like clothes. He obviously doesn’t own any clothes, so he’s been borrowing from the boys. Niall had given him the socks that morning, but the joggers are Louis’, and just a tad too short. 

Harry nods, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over Liam’s exposed ankle. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Well spotted,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “Was there a reason behind this meeting, or do you just have a sixth sense for when I’ve gotten to the best part of my book?” 

“The maid did it,” Harry intones, scrambling up and across the kitchen with a cackle before Liam can grab him. 

“Stop _telling_ me,” Liam snaps. “Why do you do that? You’re awful.” 

“I know. I’m the worst,” Harry agrees with ease. “Well now you know, so you can put the book down and come play keepie uppies with us.” 

Liam narrows his eyes. “What are keepie uppies?”

“Keep ups,” Louis says sharply, voice growing closer as he walks down the hall, “Is a footie exercise. It’s a game, keep the ball up.” 

Louis opens up the fridge and Harry slinks over to him, sliding his socked feet across the kitchen tile like he’s being pulled to Louis’ side by a magnetic force. 

“Harry just said it’s called-”

Louis turns from the fridge to glare at Liam over Harry’s head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, Liam, thank you. Why do you always repeat things to me?” 

Liam has never, not even once, repeated a word to Louis besides this exact instance. 

“You’re awful too,” Liam says, crossing his arms. “You’re both awful.” 

“Yup,” they say in unison, smiling like they’d just solved world hunger. 

Louis hands Harry a water bottle and shuts the fridge door. He tosses one to Liam too, who only barely catches it. 

“So, are you in or not?” 

Liam’s not really sure he wants to play any kind of physical activity with Louis, who is already pretty into being as physical as possible. Plus, Harry broke the monopoly board two nights back so if this game is competitive at all, who knows what will be broken this time. 

“Zayn’s gonna play,” Harry says, smirking. “He always ends up with his shirt off.” 

“What do I need to wear?” 

Physical activity is incredibly important, after all. 

* * *

“I’m gonna grab the water from the car,” Zayn tells him, wiping his brow with his balled up vest. “Can you tell them if they ask?” 

Liam follows Zayn’s line of sight to across the pitch to where Harry, Louis, and Niall are sprawled out together. “Yeah, alright.” 

Liam makes his way across to them, painfully aware of muscles he’d not even had a week or so ago. Harry is leaning back on his forearms watching Louis rip up clumps of grass and toss them into Niall’s hair

“Hey,” he greets them, slowly lowering himself to the ground. Harry’s the only one who acknowledges him, as Louis is working pretty diligently on getting Niall into a headlock. 

“Hey yourself,” Harry says, smiling lazily at him, “Have fun?” 

Liam nods, watching Liam and Niall wrestle around. They’re just about fairly matched size wise, but Louis is scrappier, fights like a wild animal with his back against the wall. It’s not long until he’s got Niall pinned to the ground crying ‘uncle’. 

Liam’s just getting a little worried about the shade of red Niall’s face is turning when Harry reaches over and taps Louis’ thigh three times gently - pat, pat, pat. Immediately, Louis rolls off and lets Niall free. They lay next to each other flat in the grass panting and laughing as Harry looks on, smiling serenely. His hand is still on Louis’ thigh, rubbing back and forth slowly, as easy as anything. 

Liam stares, thinking about the first time he’d touched Zayn, how much he’s wanted to touch him ever since. How Zayn had looked running around the pitch, shirtless and smiling openly. His heart starts to race uncomfortably in his chest as he filters through all the half thought out day dreams he has of he and Zayn. He rolls his shoulders back, trying to get himself to calm down and then-

“I touched him,” Liam blurts out loudly. 

Harry’s hand freezes on Louis’s thigh and he goes from rubbing to gripping it tightly. Liam looks up from Harry’s hand to his face and sucks in a startled breath. Harry, sweet faced, dimpled cheeked, happy go lucky Harry, looks terrifying. 

“Did ya?” he says lowly, narrowing his eyes and glaring at him so hotly, Liam genuinely worries he might burst into flames. 

It’s a bit of a confusing reaction and it takes Liam just under a minute to work through what would make Harry that upset. While he grapples with it, Niall and Louis slowly sit up and stare at him. Niall looks a bit frightened and Louis looks completely confused. 

Harry still looks murderous. 

“Yes. I-” Harry’s eyes flick to Louis’ face and then away, and Liam finally gets it. “Oh! No, not Louis. Zayn. Zayn, I meant.” 

Harry’s shoulders relax and his face clears. Niall groans and flops back onto the grass mumbling, “Oh thank god.” Louis pokes Harry in the cheek.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to share,” he needles, poking him in the cheek again and then the side. He cackles when Harry swats at him and shoots him a glare. 

“No,” Harry snaps, “I don’t share.” 

“I don’t want to share,” Liam clarifies quickly, worried Angry Harry is going to make a reappearance. 

“Oi!” Louis shouts, furrowing his brow. “That’s a bit bloody offensive, Liam.” 

It is, Liam is beyond certain now, impossible to win when dealing with Louis and Harry in any capacity. 

“Go,” Harry orders, shoving at Louis’ side and rolling him over into Niall. “Go, now. Liam is having a gay crisis. Go.” 

“I’m not-” Liam sputters, but Harry holds up a finger, stopping him. 

“Get. Up.” Harry says, shoving Louis and Niall now with both hands. “Get up right now and go do something somewhere else or I won’t make quesadillas for a month.” 

That seems to be the magic motivator, because they get up with a few groans and march away. Harry watches them go with narrowed eyes and only when they are all the way across the pitch does he turn back and look at Liam. 

“Alright.” Harry crosses his legs and rests his palms on his knees. “What level of panic are we at here?” 

“I’m fine,” Liam says automatically. “I’m not panicked at all.” 

Harry looks utterly unimpressed. “Hence the red face and strange proclamations?” 

Liam looks away, trying to get his thoughts in order. Only his thoughts keep scrambling around in his head and slipping right through his finger tips, refusing to be organised in any sort of way. 

“Liam,” Harry says gently, “Can you look at me?” 

He can, yeah, but he doesn’t really want to. With a sigh, he meets Harry’s eye and the soft look on his face makes him wish he hadn’t said anything at all. 

“I’m fine,” Liam insists firmly. 

“What do you feel when you think about Z?” Harry asks, like Liam hadn’t said anything at all. 

What a ridiculous question. How is Liam supposed to answer that? He feels…well he feels safe when they sit together quietly in Zayn’s room. He feels looked after when Zayn catches little details about him that everyone else overlooks. He feels excited when Zayn paints something new, sad when he scraps a project altogether. Irritated when Zayn rolls his eyes at him for being “too sensible”. Scared when Zayn’s close, so close his breath coasts across his skin.

“Everything,” Liam says quietly, gnawing on his bottom lip, “I feel everything in the world when I think about him.” 

Harry nods, “That’s how I feel about Louis, you know. I think it’s a beautiful thing, to feel all that because of one person.” 

Liam hesitates, thinking that over. A movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. He turns and watches Louis and Niall, across the pitch. Louis is riding Niall piggy back style, with his fist in the air shouting “Onward my knobby kneed steed!” at the top of his voice. Liam smiles despite himself. 

“I think, I think I want that,” Liam says, still watching them roughhouse. 

Harry makes an inquisitive sort of noise behind him and Liam snaps his head around. “Not with Louis I mean,” he says quickly. 

Harry snorts. “I got that yeah. But, I wouldn’t say that to often or you’ll offend him and you’ll never hear the end of it. He’s a bit sensitive you know. Once Niall said he reminded him of a peacock and Louis gave him the silent treatment for a week.” 

Liam blinks. “Thats-” 

“The price of being in love with a drama student,” Harry says, with a broad smile and a shrug.

He says it so easily, Liam thinks. Harry’s in love and he can just say it, no fear, no shame. 

“I meant,” Liam sighs and tries to think of how to put it, “I - I’m starting to remember some things, you know that, right?”

Harry tilts his head. “Mmhmm, yeah I do.” 

The grass is itchy on the back Liam’s thighs, he shifts around a little and tries to ignore it. He’s got a suspicion that his brain is trying to distract him or something. 

“Well some things are different than others,” Liam explains slowly, “Like tea, I remember that vividly. It’s just… it’s just there in my brain. But other things are like memories of memories. Or.. I don't know, like watching a memory through a dirty window. I can’t quite get a grasp of them.” 

Harry hums and shifts position, leaning forward and looking in Liam’s eyes. “So like deja vu?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay,” Harry says, still eyeing him closely, “And do you have one of those deja vu memories about Zayn?” 

Liam stares back at Harry and wonders if he’d be comfortable telling this to someone else. Probably not, Harry is the least judgemental person Liam has ever seen or met. And he’s uncomfortable right now, but he knows, profoundly, that he’s safe too. 

“When I touched Zayn…” Liam drags a hand over his face, “When I see the way you and Louis hold each other and kiss each other, I think about Zayn. I think about kissing Zayn. And when I think about _that_ I get a feeling of… shame. A feeling that I should be ashamed, that I have been ashamed before. That I should be keeping it a secret.” 

Harry inhales sharply and closes his eyes. Liam can see his jaw working, clenching and unclenching. He watches him silently, trying not to worry that he’s said that wrong thing. Zayn says he needs to stop worrying all the time. 

“Liam,” Harry opens his eyes and takes a deep breath, “I’m so, so, so sorry.” 

Confused, Liam shakes his head. “For what?” 

“You should never feel that,” Harry says firmly. “No one should have ever made you feel that way. Its- it’s wrong. And things aren’t like that anymore. Well, for some people they are. Life isn’t all rainbows and lollipops, some people are in the closet, some people aren’t safe. A lot. A lot of people aren’t safe. But, you are. You are safe to love anyone you want, gay, straight, or otherwise.” 

The intensity of the way Harry’s speaking is a lot to handle. Coupled with what Harry’s talking about, it’s almost too much. Liam takes a calming breath. He can still hear Niall and Louis messing around on the pitch and oddly it grounds him. 

“I don’t know that I’m gay,” Liam says slowly. “I just - I only feel like this about Zayn.” 

Harry shrugs, leaning back a little and losing a little bit of intensity in his gaze. “You could be bi. Or pan. Or you could be only attracted to Zayn. He is… You know. _Zayn._ ” 

Yeah. Liam knows. 

“So-” Liam stops himself and breathes deeply, “So it’s okay. I’m okay.” 

Harry smiles then, open and happy. “Yeah. You’re just fine Lima Bean.” 

Liam cringes and then thinks better of it. Anything is better than ghost boy. 

* * *

“I don’t know why I let them talk me into physical activity,” Zayn grumbles later as they make their way through the front door. “I’m going to be sore for days.” 

Liam can’t even imagine what his muscles will think of him come tomorrow. Maybe he’ll get lucky and get some kind of ‘free first time playing footie’ pass. That sounds like something a former ghost deserves. 

“And I’m exhausted,” Zayn continues, kicking his trainers off in the direction of the wall. “I’m dead on my feet.” 

Liam snorts at the expression. “Yeah me too.” 

Zayn starts walking towards the kitchen, nodding, and then stops abruptly. He spins and fixes Liam with a narrow look. “Wait. Are you really?” 

Liam stops straightening Zayn’s shoes to frown at him. “Am I what?” 

“Tired,” Zayn says, flapping his hand around. “You’re never tired.” 

“Oh,” Liam says, resuming the straightening and then toeing off his trainers as well. “Yeah, I am. Guess it didn’t dawn on me that it’s the first time.” 

Zayn watches him for a second or two and then starts walking towards the kitchen again, Liam follows. 

Opening the fridge, Zayn gazes inside contemplatively. “Did you discover something new about yourself today?” 

Liam freezes, remembering the conversation from earlier. It feels private, like a secret almost, but this is Zayn, and keeping a secret from him feels wrong.

“Well,” Liam starts, moving to sit at the kitchen table, “I had a talk with Harry.” 

“Yeah, I saw.” Zayn grabs an apple from the drawer and walks over to table. He rests his hip on the edge and looks down at Liam with a cocked brow. “And?” 

Liam hesitates, watching Zayn take a bite of the apple and then decides he might as well get it out. “We decided I’m gay.” 

Zayn chokes. He must inhale too sharply because with a strange croaking sound, he’s suddenly turning very red and grabbing at his throat. Liam jumps out of his chair, scrambling towards him, but he gives a rough cough and the bit of apple flies onto the table. 

Zayn stares at it, chest heaving, “Jesus.” 

Slowly, Liam sits back down watching the redness lessen from Zayn’s face. “You’re supposed to chew it.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it hurts. “I did chew it. You’ve been eating for a week and you’re an expert?” 

“Okay, fair enough.” Liam puts up his hands in a sign of peace. “Maybe it’s a tricky apple.” 

He clears his throat when he realises the way Zayn’s not meeting his eye is purposeful. 

“So,” he says, clearing his throat again. “So.”

Zayn does look up then, looking far more tentative than Liam would like. “So?” 

“So, Harry told me I shouldn’t be ashamed and that it’s not as big a- a _problem_ as it used to be,” Liam says, glancing to the side. The words tumble out of his mouth too quickly and get a little twisted up. “He’s getting me pamphlets and stuff he said. But if it is- I mean for you. If it is for you- that’s not to say I’m assuming. But if it is, I’d like to know now, rather than later I suppose.” 

Zayn furrows his brow. “If what is what?” 

This is the hardest conversation Liam has had in his short experience with conversations, and it’s mostly due to the feeling of rejection that seems to be in the wings of his brain- ready to storm out onto centre stage. 

“If it’s a _problem_ ,” Liam clarifies. Kind of.

Zayn is not as outwardly expressive as Louis. Within the span of time it takes to get out one sentence, Louis can change his expression dramatically about seven times. Zayn’s displays of emotion are smaller, most of the time, and require a certain level of attention to catch them. Luckily, Liam is quite literally always paying attention and he knows what every little microexpression means. 

The way Zayn’s eyebrow ticks up and his jaw clenches just slightly, spells out danger.

“If what is a problem?” Zayn says slowly. 

“Me,” Liam says, feeling small and a little scared. “Me being- being gay.” 

Liam had expected anger, that’s what they’d been seemingly leading up to. So when hurt settles on Zayn’s face, as a clear as day, it throws him for such a loop he almost doesn’t catch Zayn’s response. 

“You think I’m homophobic,” Zayn says lowly. “You think I have two best friends who are openly gay, and that I’m a fucking homophobe?” 

Well, Liam didn’t have the term for it until he said it. But it doesn’t- it’s not a nice word obviously, not with the way Zayn’s using it. And this is all very confusing because he’d felt so overwhelmingly sure that Zayn was upset about his revelation, but now he doesn’t know if he had cause. It’s just scary is all. 

“I don’t know,” Liam blurts out. His throat suddenly burns with unshed tears and he has no idea why. “You- I don’t know! You choked on your apple!” 

Zayn looks at him like he’s a crazy person. “I’ll never eat another apple again. I will throw away every apple in the flat if it makes you think I care that you like dick. How could you think I would have a problem with that?” 

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Liam snaps, wiping at the stupid tears he can’t seem to keep in his stupid eyeballs, “I’ve never done this before- this, this telling someone thing. I didn’t even really know until Harry told me. So forgive me for being scared that the one person I care most about in the world would be upset about it.” 

Zayn’s face goes soft quicker than Liam can process it, and he reaches across to yank Liam into his lap. Liam goes, sniffling just a little, and lets Zayn press his head into the crook of his neck. 

“I’m a fucking dick,” Zayn murmurs into his hair. “I’m sorry. This is a scary process and I fucked it up for you. I do care that you are gay, just not in a bad way. I support you, Liam, I swear I do. Just like I support Louis and Harry. And- and just so you know, I’m bi, so it would be incredibly fucked up for me not to.” 

Liam eases back a little and searches his face. “I don’t know what that means.” 

Zayn smiles kindly. “I’m attracted to men and women. It’s all the same to me, a soul is a soul.” 

Harry had mentioned that, Liam remembers. He sighs, trying to absorb the absolute mountain of emotions and information that's been piled on him during the course of the day. 

“Come on,” Zayn says lowly, patting Liam on the arm. “I’m exhausted. I want a shower and my bed.” 

Liam agrees wholeheartedly with that sentiment. He lets Zayn pull him up off the chair and only when he’s standing does he freeze, realisation dawning over him. 

“Your bed…” He blinks and the furrows his brow. “I don’t have a bed. I- should I sleep on the sofa?” 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I heard Niall on the phone with Vadoma before we left, you can sleep in his bed. He’s not coming back tonight.” 

Liam nods, so thoroughly emotionally exhausted that the part of his brain that facilitates speech closes up shop and leaves a ‘gone for lunch’ sign in the window. His feet still seem to work though; they follow behind Zayn all the way down the hall to the bathroom without so much as one conscious decision on Liam’s part. Maybe his whole brain is slowly going on holiday, Liam muses, one bit at a time. 

Zayn flicks on the light and waves Liam in. Liam leans against the sink and watches him get a towel out from under the sink and place it on the counter. 

“You’re making your BBC news face,” Zayn says, “Confused and a little panicked.” 

“They shouldn’t put all the news on at one time,” Liam mumbles. “It’s a lot to process.” 

“Ah, it’s a processing face.” Zayn nods and leans against the wall. “What are you processing right now?”

Liam shrugs, going for nonchalant and probably failing miserably. “Harry called it a gay crisis.” 

Zayn nods and reaches into his back pocket. Pulling out his phone, he waves it around. “Lucky for you, young padawan, I know just the thing.”

With a few taps and a couple swipes, Zayn pulls up his spotify app and music starts pouring into the room via the little speaker sat on the counter. It’s Beyoncé, one of her songs off an older album, Liam remembers from his crash course. The soft notes are soothing and distracting enough that the panic settles just a bit. 

“Now, just add warm water,” Zayn says quietly, flipping on the shower, “And you’ve got yourself a calm boy.” 

Liam watches the steam billow off of the spray and thinks about the other time they’d been like this together. When Liam was still floating but Zayn had been very much solid. Solid and naked, dripping water like diamonds. 

Zayn tilts his head and takes a step towards him. “That’s a different face entirely.” 

Liam swallows. “Is it?” 

“Yeah.” Zayn nods. “Never seen you looking at anyone that way.” 

There’s something in his tone, something in the words even. A hidden message that Liam doesn’t understand but still leaves his knees feeling a bit shaky. 

“Maybe I have a look just for you,” Liam tries, swallowing thickly again. The music has shifted to something slower, darker. The room is getting hotter by the second. “I don’t know what look-” 

“Don’t you?” Zayn cuts across, firmly but quietly. He searches Liam’s face and then gives him a small smile. “I like it. I like that it’s only for me. I want it to be only for me.” 

Liam blinks at the way Zayn’s voice has gone deep and then nods. He can do just about nothing as he watches Zayn nod back and then leave the room, pulling the door closed softly behind him with a click. 

It takes him a moment to turn away from the door and start mindlessly stripping out of his clothes. He stands under the spray of the water and closes his eyes, letting the warmth relax muscles he realised he’d been holding stiffly, and others that were sorely abused from the game earlier. His brain seems to calm as well, or at least slow down a bit. He feels better by the time he rinses away the apple scented suds and towels off. 

When he climbs into Niall’s bed, wearing a pair of borrowed pajama bottoms, his last thought before falling to sleep is of Zayn’s eyes, dark and intent on his own. 

_Lightening slashes through the sky and throws light through the room, startling the sleeping cat in Liam’s lap into leaping down and racing out the door. Harsh gusts of wind stalk the house, howling angrily, and sending the shutters banging. Thunder follows, rumbling so deeply Liam can feel it in his bones._

_He’s not alone. There’s a man standing next to the fireplace, his back straight, his chin tipped up proudly. Liam’s only just noticed him but he knows somehow he’s been there all along._

_He says something, the man. He doesn’t turn his head or look away from the flames, but Liam knows it’s for him. He leans forward, trying to catch the words._

_“We do not speak of such things,” the man repeats lowly, voice filled with contempt and authority._

_And Liam knows. Liam knows immediately what he’s being told._

_“We do not speak of such things,” the man says again._

_“We do not speak of such things.”_

_Liam shakes his head. Tries to answer him, can’t get his throat to work._

_“We do not speak of such things.” Lightning cracks across the sky again and the man's face is so familiar, so much like Liam’s._

_“We do not speak of such things,” the man hisses, and it would be less painful if he were beating him._

Liam slams into consciousness with a deep gasp. Lightning slashes across the sky outside, illuminating the city line and the entire room. Shaking, he stares at his surroundings, trying to remember who is, trying to remember where he is, trying to breathe. 

“Liam?” Zayn. That’s Zayn’s voice drifting in faintly from down the hall. He’s safe, he’s home. 

“Liam,” Zayn calls again, a little louder this time. “You alright?” 

Liam’s heart slams against his chest. He throws the duvet back and scrambles out of the bed, rushing down the hall in the direction of Zayn’s voice. Thunder rumbles loudly as he goes and rains smacks heavily against the windows. 

Zayns sat up in bed, rubbing at his eye sleepily. The duvet is pooled in his lap and his chest is bare. The sight of his skin illuminated by the street lamp and the lightning is almost enough to throw the feeling of dark oppression off Liam. 

“Did the storm wake you?” Zayn narrows his eyes, trying to study Liam’s face and figure out what’s going on, probably. 

Liam takes a few more steps into the room, stopping when his knees hit the bed, and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. A bad dream I think.” 

Zayn makes a sad sound and pulls the duvet to the side. “Come on, then.” 

Liam just stares. A crack of thunder sounds outside and Liam jumps, unsettled. Zayn sighs. “Liam, come on. You don’t have to sleep by yourself get in.” 

The bed is soft, Liam knows. And warm. And contains Zayn. 

Liam climbs in slowly, keeping his gaze carefully averted, and gives Zayn his back. Zayn pulls the duvet over them and after a second’s hesitation, wraps his arm around Liam’s middle and pulls him close. 

The comfort is instantaneous. Liam sighs and relaxes back, taking a deep breath. Outside of Zayn’s small window, Liam can see the storm raging on. It looks pretty now, the way the sky is lit up in purples and silvers. And it sounds musical almost, the way the rain beats a rhythm against the glass. 

He feels safe, now, here in Zayn’s arms. 

“Better?” Zayn mumbles, breath tickling at Liam’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Liam says. “Better.” 

And they sleep. 

* * *

Liam wakes up all at once and freezes. Jaw clenched tightly and breath coming quick he stares at the bedside table while his brain races to supplies him with memories from the night before. He’d had a nightmare, he remembers, and gotten into bed with Zayn. That’s where he is, that’s whose arm is draped over his middle. His heart rate slows and his lungs start working like they’re supposed to, and he relaxes enough to observe his surroundings beyond the nightstand.

There’d been a storm the night before. Even if he didn’t remember the awful thunder, the few raindrops still clinging to the window pane would have reminded him. The bed is warm, particularly in the patches of sunshine that are streaming in through the window, and in the places where Zayn’s body is pressed up against his- his arm around Liam’s middle, his leg pressed against the angle of Liam’s, his hips flush against Liam’s arse. 

And with that realisation, Liam flies headfirst from curious contentment to absolute embarrassment. Because, despite the fact he’s been unconscious, his dick has obviously not been. It’s painfully hard, tenting the pajamas bottoms, and there’s a pool of wanting churning deep in his belly. Every inch of his body is begging him to press back into the cradle of Zayn’s groin and rock his weight there. He doesn’t know how to handle this. He’s not even sure what it is that he’s supposed to be handling. His mind is spinning as quickly as it can with half its blood supply pumped in the other direction. Panicked and just shy of faint, Liam scrambles out of the bed as quietly as he can. 

If he looks back, he’ll probably end up crawling straight back in the bed, so instead he tiptoes out the door and down the hall to the bathroom. He’s faced with a couple of issues, he realises as he stares at himself in the mirror. His skin is flushed and covered in a thin layer of sweat, he’s got to wee but that's not gonna happen unless he plans on cleaning the ceiling, and of course, his dick has refused to go down. 

He scrubs a hand over his face roughly and takes a deep breath. This is okay, this is fine. Every issue can be solved, he just has to start with one bit at a time. The flushed skin and sweat part seems like a good enough place to start, he muses, a shower is an easy fix. He quickly kicks off the pajama pants, flicks on the shower, and shoves his body under he spray. 

And then he almost jumps right back out. “Jesus Christ!” he hisses. 

In his rush he’d forgotten to let the water warm up and it’s ice cold raining down on him. He gasps and slides as far back as he can, trying to get away from the spray. Wiping water from his eyes he glances down and stills. Well, thats two problems solved in one go then. Apparently, cold showers are erection killers. 

Good to know. 

“Okay,” he mumbles to himself, soaping up his body briskly. “This is fine.” 

He’s done with his shower before the water has fully warmed up, restless as he is. Penis facing downward once again, he actually gets to pee and then leaves the bathroom for Niall’s room. He rummages through the drawers, finding a tshirt and a pair of joggers that fit him just about well enough. 

Zayn is still sleeping when Liam emerges fully dressed, which is okay because even erectionless he feels ready to jump out of his skin, and he doesn’t know that he’d be able to hide that. He paces the living room by the windows for a few moments, gnawing at his fingernails. Then, just before he's worn a rut into the floor, something on the pavement below catches his eye. 

There’s a pair of women jogging together in bright colors, their pony tails swinging behind them. Liam tilts his head and opens the window. He can hear them laughing together, chatting happily, and the _smack smack smack_ of their trainers on the pavement. 

Suddenly, he knows that’s what he needs: he needs to get out of the flat, he needs to get down to the pavement, and he needs to run. Moving as quickly as he can, he shoves on the trainers he’d worn to play footie, scribbles a quick note for Zayn, and flies down the hall, down the steps, and out the front door. 

With the first stride, Liam’s entire body relaxes. His lungs, expanding and filling with air, feel like breaking free from chains. His heart pumping feels like being brought back to life. His brain settles as he hits his stride, the contents shifting from a jumbled mess to neat little piles perfect for sifting and organising. In his mind's eye, he works through the piles to the steady beat of his feet hitting the pavement. 

The nightmare last night had been awful. He doesn’t have any frame of reference but he knows the general idea. Kids get nightmares about scary clowns and monsters under their beds, adults have nightmares about awful bosses and missed deadlines. Apparently, Liam has nightmares about his father telling him he’s not to speak about being gay. Well, he’s not sure its his father, but he felt that familiar inkling just like he had when he’d drawn his mother. It’s no wonder he’s not drawn that man though, Liam thinks, just the thought of him now is setting his stomach back in knots. His face may look just like Liam’s but that's where the similarities end, he’s sure of it. 

Liam senses motion to his right and when he refocuses he realises he’s at a zebra crossing. Breathing heavily, he pauses, watching a car stop. The driver nods in his direction and then rolls ahead, splashing through puddles left on the road by last nights storm. 

Breathing heavily, Liam checks for more cars and, seeing none, picks up a jog again. He crosses the street, minding the puddles, and hits the pavement on the other side just as his brain slides back into retrospective mode. 

Zayn had made it better last night- the nightmare, the fear, it all disappeared in Zayn’s bed. And Liam’s not stupid, even if he has been a bit in denial. All the boys make him feel safe, all the boys make him feel comfortable and accepted. But, it’s different with Zayn. Everything is different with Zayn. Zayn makes him feel _whole_. 

The only problem is, well not the only problem: he’s a newly corporeal man from a hundred years ago living with a bunch of idiots, he’s got no shortage of problems- the _main_ problem is deciding what to do with the knowledge that he is mostly likely head over heels in love with his friend. 

Liam rounds a corner and spots the two women from earlier. He slows his pace a little, watching them order iced coffee from the little shop that Louis likes. The woman on the right, is bouncing a little on her toes, smiling probably, Liam thinks, despite the fact that he can only see the back of her head and her swinging ponytail. The vendor leans out of the window with the second coffee and the woman on the left takes it, turning towards her friend. She stands on tiptoe and presses a quick kiss to her lips, more smile than anything, and Liam’s body stops working altogether and he nearly falls on his face. 

Stood on the corner, blinking and probably looking like a fool, he watches them tangle their hands together and stroll away with their coffees. And suddenly he imagines he and Zayn like that, happy and kissing. Walking together, holding hands. 

Loving Zayn isn’t one of his problems, Liam realises with a slow smile, loving Zayn is the answer to every question that matters.

* * *

After his run, Liam is sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wants to court Zayn. Courting he remembers, albeit a little fuzzily, but most of his memories are getting clearer by the day. What he is not sure of though, is how courting happens in this new world he’s been thrust into. So he does what he always does when he’s got a problem that needs solving: he calls the boys. 

“So,” Louis says in his tone of voice that he uses when he’s supposed to be taking things seriously and he’s actively taking the piss, “Why have we been called to this meeting today?” 

“It’s not a meeting,” Niall says, his voice kind of muffled by the way he's laying flat on the couch. “There’s no one taking notes.” 

“Not all meetings require note taking,” Harry points out, dropping into Louis’ lap. “Where’s Zayn?”

“He’s got class-” Liam tries. 

“Right, you are Harold,” Louis says, “Only important meetings require notes. Is this not an important meeting then, Liam? Have you called me up and rushed me over here for nothing? I was minutes away from doing something very important, you know.” 

Liam, sat across from them with crossed arms and waning patience, rolls his eyes. “This is not a meeting and you were not.” 

Harry shifts around and stares at Liam in the eye, cocking a brow. “He very much was.” 

Niall snorts. 

“Do you two always have to be so vulgar?” Liam wonders. 

“Yes,” Louis props his chin on Harry’s shoulder, “It’s my signature move.” 

Harry turns to him and smiles slowly. “Well, that and-” 

“Please do not say anymore words at all,” Liam shouts, practically jumping out of his chair. “None. No more words. Please don’t finish that sentence.” 

Niall finally sits up, kicking at Louis a little for seemingly no reason, and hauling the pillow into his lap. “Okay, really. What’s going on?” 

In a moment of panic, Liam almost wants to let Harry finish his sure to be disgusting sentence. Almost. 

He takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “I’ve decided to court Zayn.” 

Louis groans. Niall nods. Harry looks like he’s just been given twelve days of Christmas gifts in one go. 

“This is so romantic.” Harry shoves at Louis, who gives him a thoroughly offended look, and scoots forward right to the edge of the sofa. “What is your plan. Do you have a plan?”

“Well,” Liam starts, “Not so much. It’s more of a general-” 

“He’s got nothing,” Louis interjects. “Zilch, nada, aucun.” 

Harry turns a little to bat his eyelashes in Louis’ direction. “You’re so good with languages, baby.”

Niall shrugs at Liam. “That's as good a place to start as any-” 

“It’s the perfect place to start,” Harry says, cutting across Niall and bouncing a little in his seat. “We’re going to need to do some brainstorming. Oh! Is that why we’re here? It is, isn’t it? You called us so we could help you come up with a plan. Oh my god, Liam! Do you even know what that means?” 

Liam, a little frightened by the way Harry’s voice keeps climbing octaves, shakes his head slowly. “No, I’m afraid I don’t-” 

“It means you trust us.” To Liam’s horror, Harry’s voice cracks and he spins to Louis, wordlessly looking for comfort. 

Louis wraps his arms around him immediately and gives Liam a dirty look. “Nice, Liam. Good job.” 

Niall sucks his teeth and leans back against the sofa cushion, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Harry cried this morning about a piggy bank in an advert, don’t listen to Louis. We’ll help you mate. The four of us together just about make one functioning brain.” 

Harry sniffles and looks up from Louis’ shoulder. “This is going to be the most amazing courting _ever_.” 

“I hope so,” Liam says, sighing a little shakily. “Zayn is pretty amazing.” 

With a wail, Harry starts crying all over again, but Louis looks impressed instead of irritated. That’s probably a good sign, Liam thinks while he watches Niall get a pen and paper. 

“Alright,” Niall says once he’s sat back down. “Let’s get started.” 

And just like that, the planning begins. 

* * *

Louis, for as put out as he seems about the idea, comes up with what is probably one of the most important parts of the whole situation. 

“Alright Liam, this is Selfridges,” Louis says with a firm shove to the middle of his back. “In you get, we don’t have all day. Some of us already have boyfriends to tend to in case you've forgotten.” 

“I’m going to tell him you talk about him like he’s a baby,” Liam grumbles, raking his eyes over the seemingly endless amount of clothes surrounding them. 

“Go ahead,” Louis says breezily. “He likes it. He _is_ my baby. Are you done being incredibly intrusive about our sex life now? Only I’d like to pick out some clothes for your date-” 

“I’ll go home,” Liam warns, face completely red.

Louis holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. Still a little touchy about the dick talk stuff. Won’t happen again, I swear. Just clothes.” 

Liam narrows his eyes. “Just clothes?” 

“Scouts honour.” 

“You were never a boy scout.” 

Louis sucks his teeth, “The sentiment is the same. I’m sorry, alright. I’ll behave.” 

Liam studies him for a moment and then relents. It’s not like he’s got many options here, he really does need clothes of his own. “Alright, but no dirty talk, Lou. I’m serious.” 

Louis mimes zipping his lips and tucking a key in his back pocket, and then spins on his heel and starts marching towards the back of the shop. Liam hurries to catch up; Louis is a good bit smaller than him (not that Liam would ever say that out loud) but he tends to walk like he’s got a very important meeting to attend in five minutes, at a location 45 minutes away. 

“So, do you have a plan here?”

Louis glances back at him and gives him a hard look. “Of course I have a plan. We’re gonna start at trousers and work everything around that.” 

They reach the back of the shop and Liam tries very hard not to gulp at the rows and rows of folded fabric. Everything is marked with numbers that mean nothing to him and words that are just as foreign. Luckily, Louis seems to be in his element. 

“Alright,” he says firmly, pulling down a pair of black trousers from a shelf and unfolding them with a snap, “You’ll be pretty easy to find a fit for, you’re all proportionate and your legs aren’t too long. These should be just about the right size.” 

Liam takes them from him and furrows his brow. “What do you mean proportionate?”

Louis doesn’t look up from his hunt for more pairs, but he does sigh. “Well, some of us have small waists and big, _big_ bums Liam. It makes it quite difficult to get things to fit properly without having them taken in.” 

“You mean you.” 

Louis tosses four more pairs over Liam’s head and starts walking in the other direction. “Obviously.” 

Liam follows him and then only grumbles a very little bit when Louis shoves him into a dressing room stall and orders him to try everything on. 

“So,” Louis says a moment later while Liam is trying to shove his foot into too tight trousers, “What about you? Do you have a plan?” 

“I thought the plan was to start with trousers and go from there.” 

Louis sighs so thoroughly Liam thinks he might feel it on the other side of the door. “I meant a plan for taking Zayn to the cinema, _Liam_.”

Liam finally gets his feet in and starts hopping up and down trying to get the trousers up to his hips. “Well, no. Do I need one?” 

It takes a little yanking but he’s able to get the snap done up. He gives the mirror a dubious glance and then swings open the door. “Are these supposed to fit like this?” 

Louis regards him for a handful of seconds with pursed lips. “Yes. No. Yes.” 

Liam blinks. “I don’t follow.” 

Taking him by the shoulders, Louis spins him around and shoves him back in the dressing room. “Yes, those are supposed to fit that way. No, you aren’t going to buy them. Yes, you need a plan. Flowers, of course.” 

Liam is suddenly exhausted. “Flowers? For my trousers?” 

Louis rolls his eyes and tosses Liam the next pair to try on. “No, dickhead. Flowers for your boy.” 

Liam stares down at the trousers in his hands and shrugs, he might as well trust Louis, he did get Harry after all. 

* * *

When Liam gets back, arms full of flowers and shopping bags, Niall is gone for the day and the flat is quiet. Now that Liam’s met Vadoma, he realises that's where he must go when he leaves for a night or a couple days at a time. He feels a little guilty about not questioning it before. But, Zayn is a lot to think about for one person, to be fair. 

Not a lot about Zayn is fair actually, Liam thinks. Not the way his shirt rides up and exposes his hip bones when he paints on the ceiling. Not the way his scent, vanilla and apple, lingers after him from room to room. Not the way his cheek bones grab hold of light and keep it away from the rest of his face, casting him in shadow. Certainly not the way he looks now, sleep ruffled and soft, padding around the kitchen after his nap, making a tea. 

He glances up briefly smiles when he hears the front door close. “Hey, Love. How was shopping?” 

“It went well.” Liam deposits the bags onto the sofa and heads towards the kitchen, trying not to nervously crinkle the cellophane wrapped around the flower stems. “I, um, have something for you.” 

Zayn turns from the sink with a surprised look and he spots the flowers. He smiles broadly and reaches for them. “Oh yeah, no doubt you were with Louis.” 

Liam hands them over and shuffles his feet a bit. “Louis likes flowers, then?” 

Zayn strokes one of the roses gently with just the tip of his finger. “Yup. Me too though. Thank you, this was sweet.” 

He leans up and plants a quick kiss on Liam’s cheek and then turns to look in the bottom cabinets for something. 

Liam takes some slow breaths and swallows. It’s actually a little easier to do this with Zayn digging around in the cabinet, making a racket and not watching him. “I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to watch something with me?” Liam wants to slam his head into the counter. That is very much not the script he’d practiced all the way home. 

Zayn finds what he’s looking for, a vase apparently, and goes to the sink. He starts filling it and looks over his shoulder. “Sure? What on netflix?” 

Liam is sweating in places he didn’t even know could sweat. “No actually… No actually I meant the cinema.” 

Zayn, at the counter, stops in the middle of unwrapping the flowers. “The cinema. To see a film?” 

“Yes.” 

“On a date?” 

Liam pauses. The thing is, he’s still fairly new at reading social situations and, even though this Zayn, he still thinks he’s about twenty five seconds away from laughing loudly and proclaiming this all a joke. “Uh.”

Zayn blinks prettily, which is something he probably can’t help but do, Liam muses, not with mile long eyelashes like that. “I would like it to be a date, Liam.” 

“You would?” 

Zayn nods slowly, giving Liam a tiny smirk. “Yes. Would you?” 

“Well - I,” Liam fumbles and gestures towards the counter, “I got you flowers.” 

Zayn’s smile spreads, changing the shape of his cheeks and wrinkling his nose in a way that makes Liam want to sit on the floor for a second. “Yeah you did. I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Liam has no idea where to go from there or what to say so he just - doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word or do a thing. He stands in the kitchen, watching Zayn trim the ends of the flowers and put them in the vase. All the while, his heart rate starts picking up and his chest starts feeling tight.

He doesn’t know how to court someone; he doesn’t know how to court Zayn. He doesn't even know how films work. He doesn’t know how any of this works. This was all just a big mistake, he realises, he’s got to find a way out of this mess before he ends up disappointing Zayn and embarrassing himself. 

Zayn sets the vase on the window sill over the sink and turns back. The second he lays eyes on Liam, his expression shifts, and Liam knows he can tell exactly what's going on in his head. 

He closes the distance between them in three quick strides and cradles Liam’s face gently. “Hey, breathe for me, Li. It’s just me. It's just you and me here and nothing is wrong.” 

Liam takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes - lets Zayn’s voice wash over him. 

“I want to spend time with you. You can do this, and I won’t leave your side for even a second. I’ve got you, okay?” 

Liam nods and slowly opens his eyes. “Okay.” 

“Come here,” Zayn pulls him forward against his chest and holds him tightly. 

Liam sinks into the embrace and lets himself be rocked. They stand that way, leaning against one another and just being until Liam’s heart settles. 

The window above the sink is still propped open a bit, and the air that is sneaking through is humid and hot. There’s a faint smell of cleaning product in the air, from Niall no doubt, and it clashes with the flowers. The fridge is on its last leg, and it starts an awful humming noise like it often does. 

And wrapped up in Zayn’s arms, try as he might, Liam can’t think of a single place he rather be.

* * *

The theater is colder than Liam expected. Colder and bigger. He stares around at the rows of seats as they walk up the aisle and fish mouths at the size of the screen. 

“Is it usually this empty?” Liam asks, whispering instinctively and eyeing all the rows of unoccupied seats. 

Zayn nods. “At this time, yeah. This is a fairly early show and it’s only Thursday.” 

Liam scootches down in his seat a little, keeping his arm pressed up against Zayn’s but folding his feet under himself. 

Zayn glances over, taking in the way he’s positioned and snorts. “Typical.” 

Liam tilts his head, squinting a little to try and make out his expression in the darkened room. “Typical what?” 

Zayn nudges his chin towards Liam. “Gays can’t sit right. It’s a right of passage. You never have your feet on the floor.” 

Liam frowns. “Is that bad?” 

“No,” Zayn says immediately. “Nothing about you is bad babes.” 

Liam is saved from having to respond to that in any way that isn’t “you are perfect and I love you” by the appearance of a man and a woman at the door. Liam watches them walk quickly together, having some sort of whispered conversation. They sit down just three rows below them just as the first previews start and the lights drop even lower. 

They start pawing at each other in under two minutes. 

Liam tries to pay attention to the screen. The movie is interesting, probably, it’s loud at the very least. But, between the two of them kissing without letting up for air and the way the light glows against Zayn’s skin Liam is stuck between a rock and a hard place. A very hard, pressing up against his flies, incredibly uncomfortable hard place.

He feels a little guilty about how relieved he is when it’s over and they leave the theater. He wants to gulp in the humid air like a fish thrown back to sea. He wants to go to the authorities and have that couple arrested for awful behavior. 

He settles for an ice cream cone and a walk back to the flat the long way around.

“Awfully quiet over there, ghost boy.” 

Liam rolls his eyes and bumps him with his shoulder. “Just thinking.” 

“Mhmm, about anything in particular or everything at once?” 

“Something in particular.”

They walk in silence for a couple blocks. Zayn occasionally bumps their shoulders together, like he’s reminding Liam he’s there, and keeps up a steady, soft hum. 

“Are you going to tell me?” Zayn asks eventually. “Or do you want me to try and read your mind?” 

Liam gets enough of that from Vadoma. “I was just… Well you know that couple in front of us?” 

Zayn hums in acknowledgment but makes no other attempt at communication, leaving Liam to actually voice what’s in his head even though he’d really rather not. 

He clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m not sure why they paid money for the film if they were planning on doing… doing that the entire time.” 

Zayn’s smirking at him, Liam can tell from the corner of his eye. But he's not going to turn to confirm it, because he's about fifteen degrees too mortified to look. 

“Doing that?” Zayn asks. “Snogging you mean?”

Liam genuinely hopes Zayn is watching where they are going because there is no way he’s peeling his eyes up from the pavement any time soon. 

“Yeah, that's what I mean.”

“It’s kind of just what’s done,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Dark room, comfy seats, close proximity. Pretty perfect conditions aren’t they?” 

“I wouldn’t really know,” Liam says, trying to keep his voice light. He might not do such a great job, or maybe his body language gives him away, because suddenly Zayn is right up next to him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as they walk. 

Liam doesn’t know how Zayn knows it will settle his nerves, but it works every time. 

“I forget sometimes,” Zayn murmurs. “You’re always so brave and happy. Ready to take on the world. Sometimes, I forget there are so many things you’ve not experienced yet.” 

Liam’s heart sinks. It’s not that he’s unaware of all the thing he’s missed out on- all the things that make him strange and different, it’s just not so fun being reminded. 

“It’s an amazing gift for me, you know,” Zayn continues. 

Liam glances at him, confused. “What do you mean?” 

Zayn slides his hand a little lower, kneading at the muscles of Liam’s neck. “I mean, I get to see you live life for the first time. I guess everything looks so much more interesting when I get to see it from your perspective.” 

They come up to the zebra crossing by the flat and Liam stops, sighing. “I don’t think there’s anything interesting about never being kissed, Z.” 

Zayn cradles the back of Liam’s neck firmly and spins him around, pulling him almost flush to his body. “And what about a first kiss?” 

Liam stares at him for a second, thrown for a loop, and then he understands. And immediately after, his knees threaten to give out. “What?” 

“I hardly remember mine,” Zayn continues softly. His breath ghost across Liam’s lips. “That’s a shame isn’t it? A first kiss should be memorable. It should be _interesting_.”

Liam can’t keep his eyes of Zayn’s lips. “Yes. I guess. Should it?” 

“Mhmm.” Zayn brushes the tip of his nose against Liam’s, startling a gasp from him. “I think so.” 

“Oh, well if you think…” Liam agrees breathily, closing his eyes and losing focus a little. Overwhelmed. “If- If you-” 

“Can I kiss you, Liam?” Zayn asks, gently winding his fingers through Liam’s hair again. “Can I be your first kiss?”

A whispered _yes_ barely makes it past his lips before Zayn is pressing into them. He kisses like he does everything. Gentle. Firm. And then he tilts Liam’s head just so and suddenly is all consuming heat and fire. 

Liam whimpers and is rewarded with a soft sigh and the press of Zayn’s tongue. First gently sweeping across his bottom lip and then dancing alongside his. Taking. Every one of Liam’s senses clicks into overload and suddenly it's like Zayn is everywhere- surrounding him totally. 

His smell, his touch, his heat, his soft sounds. His _taste._

When they separate, Zayn leaning back just a bit, Liam sways on his feet.

“I think,” Liam whispers, forcing his eyes to slowly open. “I think I’ll need another go if you really want me to remember.” 

Zayn barks out a laugh, startlingly loud in their quiet little bubble and gives him the warmest look Liam has ever seen. “If you’re a very good boy, I will see what can be done.”

Liam’s heart stutters. “I can be good.” 

Zayn’s eyes go from warm to dark and he leans forward, but he doesn’t kiss Liam again. He sweeps his thumb over Liam’s bottom lip, and searches his face. He meets his eye again with a clench of his jaw. “I hope so.” 

The walk home is quiet save for the sounds of their trainers on the pavement and Liam’s heart pounding in his chest. It’s not a scary kind of energy. Just a little overwhelmed. His body trying to cope with things he’s never been even close to close to coping with before. Zayn knows, of course, Liam can tell by the way he squeezes his hand the whole way back. By the way he starts playing in his hair again. 

It doesn’t settle, Liam doesn’t settle, until he’s in soft joggers and tucked under Zayn’s blankets with his arm draped over his middle. 

And then everything is calm again. 

* * *

The morning after the theater and Liam’s first kiss is also the twelfth morning he’s woken up in Zayn’s bed and the twelth time he’s snuck out from under the covers to take a cold shower. He’s fairly confident about it by now. 

He doesn’t even make it an inch this time. 

“Where do you go?” Zayn mumbles in his ear, voice thick with sleep. 

Liam stills and closes his eyes, willing Zayn to lay still and remain unaware of Liam’s predicament. “When?” 

Zayn shifts, draping his leg over Liam’s thigh and getting incredibly close to Liam’s dick. “When you leave in the morning, where do you go?” 

Liam swallows. “Running. You know that.” 

There's a rustle, the duvet shifting, and Zayn’s closer, nuzzling into Liam’s neck like he’s done it a thousand times before. When in actuality, this is brand new torture for Liam and he’s not handling it very well. 

“I can hear the front door,” Zayn says, seemingly oblivious to Liam’s mounting distress. “You dont leave for like half an hour after you get out of bed.” 

“I take a shower,” Liam admits, for lack of a better excuse or any excuse at all really. 

Zayn stops moving and Liam knows without looking over that he’s watching him. “You take a shower before you go running?” 

This conversation is quickly going where Liam would really rather it didn’t. “...Yes.” 

There’s a few beats of silence, during which Liam starts to hope that by some miracle Zayn has fallen back asleep, and then. “Liam.” 

Liam keeps his eyes firmly locked on the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Will you look at me please?” 

“No thank you.” 

Zayn snorts. “Liam.” 

Liam sighs and gives in and meets Zayn’s gaze, “Zayn.” 

Zayn’s face is sleep soft and open. He tilts his chin down and looks up through his lashes. 

Liam narrows his eyes and waits. 

“Why do you take a shower, Liam?” 

And Liam knows. Liam knows that Zayn is using that soft voice, and that look through his lashes to get what he wants. He knows, so he shouldn’t work. 

And yet.

“To get rid of this,” Liam growls. He throws back the duvet as all the frustration and embarrassment of the last two weeks bubbles up to the surface. He gestures to his lap, where his joggers are tented. “That. That is why. Okay?!” 

Zayn stares for several seconds, blinking, and then mumbles, “Get rid of it?” 

Liam throws his head back and stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing and the way his cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “Yeah. It- a cold shower helps.” 

“A cold shower,” Zayn repeats, voice flat. Liam can feel his eyes on his face again. “So you’re not- I thought you were jerking off?”

Liam furrows his brow. “I don’t know what that term means.” 

“Is the ceiling really that interesting?” Zayn asks with a sigh. 

“Yes,” Liam grumbles. “It never asks me uncomfortable questions. We have a very close friendship, it and I.” 

Zayn laughs and the bed shakes just a bit, which only reminds Liam that his dick is still very much hard and very much in need of attention. He tries not to shift. 

“Jerking off,” Zayn explains, “is slang for masturbating. That’s the usual plan of action when one wakes up with a hard dick. You get a hand on yourself.” 

Liam turns his head sharply. “I don’t. That’s not- I don’t do that. I haven’t been - Jesus you think I’ve been sneaking off to do _that_.” 

Zayn rakes his eyes over the expression on the scandalized expression on Liam’s face and his eyebrows shoot up. His mouth twitches a little like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling and doesn’t want Liam to see.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Liam grouses, barely resisting a pout. “I’m new here in case you’ve forgotten.” 

Zayn’s face shifts again, soft and sweet and he brings up his hand to gently thumb at Liam’s jaw, dragging it over the stubble there. “Hey, I know that. I’d never forget anything about you babes. I’m not laughing at you.” 

“You’re smiling,” Liam points out, still grumpy. 

“I’m happy.” 

Liam _tsks. “_ Wonderful. Can I go take care of this now?”

Zayn’s hand stills and then he lifts it slowly, deliberately, and places it flat on Liam’s chest. “Why don’t you let me help you instead.” 

It’s really a shame that Liam has been in this life for so little time and already Zayn is actively trying to kill him. 

“You want to - what?” Liam chokes a little, shakes his head. “You want to touch me?” 

“I always want to touch you.” 

Liam’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “There? You want to touch me there?” 

“Your dick? God yes.” Zayn looks fierce, hungry, _hot_. “Everywhere. Always.” 

Liams hips jerk up on their own accord and his breath catches. It’s hard to think when he’s like this- when he’s hard. More difficult still when he’s pressed up against Zayn like this - his voice in his ear, his smell on his skin, the memory of his lips still tingling on Liam’s. _God_.

“Yes,” Liam rushes out, looking away. “Yes. Zayn. Yes.” 

Zayn stills. “Yes?” 

Liam snaps his eyes back to his. “ _Please_.” 

With a groan, Zayn scrambles up and yanks at Liam’s joggers, making him hiss at the rough contact of the material being dragged over the head of his dick. 

“Oh my god,” Zayn whispers, sounding awed, “Look at you.” 

Liam looks, because Zayn said so, and whines at the way his dick is nearly purple with how flushed it is, curved up towards his belly and leaking. 

“Shh,” Zayn murmurs, sliding his fingers through the curls at the base, making Liam’s dick jump and Liam nearly pass out. “Don’t worry, babes. I got you.” 

Liam’s back bows off the bed at the feeling of Zayn’s hand wrapped around his dick. 

“Jesus,” Liam gasps loudly as his eyes roll back in his head. 

He thinks Zayn chuckles, but he can’t hear him properly over the rushing in his ears. 

Zayn shoves him back down flat with his other palm flat on his stomach and holds him there. “That’s it. Just feel it. Let go, I’ve got you.” 

That. That Liam can hear. And Zayn keeps talking, while his hand slides over Liam’s dick, a little roughly until Zayn leans forward and spits on the head. 

Liam’s whole body writhes at that, but Zayn holds him steady. “That’s it, doing so well for me.” 

Something hot churns in Liam’s belly and his toes curl. He panics for second, knowing something is happening and not sure what. “Zayn?” 

Zayn’s hand moves faster, popping up over the head of Liam’s dick over and over and-

“Let go baby,” Zayn whispers, directly in Liam’s ear. “Be a good boy for me and let me have it.” 

With a shout, Liam comes. His mind whites out for a second, an eternity, he has no idea. He blinks his eyes open, trembling. 

Zayn smiles down at him, licking his hand. “Good job.”

“I-” Liam shakes his head. “My god.” 

“You can just call me Zayn.” 

He shifts, leaning back against the headboard and Liam’s eyes fall on his lap. He’s hard, visible and obvious in his basketball shorts. Liam traces his eyes over the bulge and sits up. 

Zayn watches him curiously, still licking come of his hand like it’s candy. 

“Teach me?” 

Zayn smiles darkly and drags him down for a kiss. “My pleasure.” 

* * *

Harry’s gives Liam the details of his contribution to Project Court Zayn (Niall is having pins made) while on a morning jog with Liam. He explains that the true way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and after clearing up the confusion _that_ statement creates, he starts talking Liam through the concept of fajitas and candlelit dinners.

The fajitas go over well. The candles go over very well. But the homemade chocolate cake leads to Liam being shoved onto the bed and being thoroughly introduced to the art of felatio, so he supposes that goes over the best. 

Several minutes later, Liam blinks up at the ceiling. It’s just about the only thing he can manage to do while swimming around in his orgasm haze. Well, he is breathing, he notes, albeit pretty rapidly. He’s outrageously hot, draped in bliss-heavy boy and twisted up bed sheets.

“I was thinking,” he announces, blinking at how deep his voice sounds. That’s new. 

Zayn doesn’t move from his head from where it’s in pressed firmly into the space beneath Liam’s jaw. “Just now? I must not have been doing it right, then.” 

Liam’s face heats. Zayn’s lips moving against his skin have his dick twitching in a way that means it would really like to show him exactly how right he’d been doing it. 

“No,” Liam says, smiling to himself, “That was- yeah, no, my brain was not functioning at all during _that_.” 

Zayn snorts. “Good. So before the mind blowing sex, is what you mean?” 

Liam’s never had sex so he can’t compare experiences, and he’s never heard that term, but his brain does feel significantly… Blown, so he goes with it. “Yes, before. Before, well before I was thinking.” 

“Do I need to take you to a doctor or something,” Zayn mumbles. 

Liam sighs. “No. Okay. I was thinking that maybe I’d like to go to classes too.” 

Zayn does shift then. He leaves most of his body still draped over Liam’s, much to Liam’s relief, but slides his shoulders back a bit. Liam tilts his head to the side and meets his gaze. Zayn watches him carefully. 

“Yeah?” 

Liam nods minutely, “Yeah. I have no idea what kind. But, I want to learn and I want it to be something I care about. That’s one of the memories that I keep having. I keep feeling like I was working so hard to reach a goal I didn’t even really want. I want to be like you, and Louis, and Harry and Niall. I want to find something I love and spend every day learning about it.” 

Zayn keeps watching him with a carefully neutral expression and doesn’t say anything at all. What could he possibly say, Liam wonders, this is all such an impossible idea anyway. 

Liam sighs. “Am I an idiot? Am I some kind of idiot with his head in the clouds?” 

Zayn gives him a soft smile and shakes his head. “No,” he says gently, dragging his fingers across Liam’s cheek. “I’d never use those kinds of words to describe you.” 

“What words then?” 

Zayn slides his hand back to the nape of Liam’s neck and tugs him forward. His kiss is firm but gentle, steady and sure. Intoxicating. Liam sighs into it, spine melting. 

Zayn pulls back, just a centimetre. “Smart. Beautiful,” he presses another kiss to Liam’s lips and whispers, “Brave.” 

* * *

At first glance, one would think the most tactile person of the bunch would be Harry. He’s forever climbing into someone’s lap, always stealing a hug from some unsuspecting victim. Or maybe Louis. Louis is pretty cuddly too, especially with Harry. So it would probably be a toss up if a stranger were to be asked, but Liam knows it’s neither of them. 

The actual serial cuddler is Niall. 

“Liam,” Niall coos from his position in Liam’s lap, one arm wrapped around his neck and the other around his middle, “I’m going to ask you something and you’ve got to say yes.”

Liam frowns. “Then why are you asking me?” 

“Because that’s what people _do_ ,” Niall says with a shrug. 

“Okay,” Liam says, because what else is there to say, really. “What is the question?” 

Niall shifts, Liam thinks he’s getting up, but he just changes his position and settles again. “It’s not a question, it’s more of an invitation.” 

“That I have to accept.” 

“Exactly.” 

Liam sighs. This always happens when Zayn is in class. One of the boys ropes him into some nonsense because he’s not sure how to say no. He’s starting to think they do it on purpose. 

“Well, what is it?”

Niall leans back and smiles. “Pub night.” 

Definitely on purpose. 

“What would that entail exactly?” Liam asks slowly. 

“Well, a pub for one,” Niall says, cheeky and proud of himself for it. “Plus all four of the rest of us. And beer. And bad food.” 

That doesn’t sound bad at all, in fact, it sounds like Friday nights in the flat. But Niall is pulling on the edge of his jumper like he does when he’s got the card and tells Harry to go fish anyway. Liam narrows his eyes. 

“And what else?” 

“Nothing else,” Niall says so quickly it hardly sounds like words at all. 

Last week, Louis had stolen all of Zayn’s underwear and hidden them. No one could get him to admit where they were until Harry came back from class and stared him down. Liam had started practicing that look in the mirror that very day. He puts it on and aims it at Niall. 

Niall, much to Liam’s pleasure and pride, cracks in under 40 seconds. “Okay so, there’s sometimes a pretty good crowd.” 

“Ah,” Liam says, cringing. 

It’s been a lot to process, going from no one seeing him, to one person, to five, and then suddenly, seemingly the entire world is looking right at and not through him. Liam’s not used to it yet, and he often feels panicked in a heavily populated area. The coffee shop is just about all he’s been able to handle so far, and even that leaves him feeling on edge. 

“I don’t know, Niall.” Liam shakes his head. “That doesn’t really sound like a fun time for me.” 

“I know,” Niall says hastily. “I know that you think you won’t have fun. But we’ll all be there with you.” 

“Yeah but-” 

Niall scooches away a little to look him in the eye. “And we can go any time you want. No questions asked.” Liam must still look uncertain because Niall smiles slyly. “It’s open mic night. Zayn has a beautiful singing voice, you know.” 

Liam rolls his eyes. Hard. “You can’t use Zayn to get me to do everything.” 

“Probably not,” Niall says easily, “But I’ve heard you sing, and even if I think this courting thing is ridiculous, I can’t think of a better way to win Z over than having you sing some sappy love song to him. Plus, I will remind you that you’ve already agreed to say yes.” 

Liam doesn’t want to say yes. What he wants to do is dump Niall onto the floor and sneak away to Zayn’s room, where no boys will cuddle him into tranquility and then spring awful questions on him. 

But Liam’s not a coward, at least he’s not now and he’d like to think he never was one. So instead, he nods. “Alright.” 

Niall crows, tossing a fist in the air. “Knew you’d come through, Payno!” 

Liam sighs, smiling at him reluctantly. One day he’ll figure out how to say no. 

* * *

The pub isn’t so bad. 

Music floats through the place, not too loud that it drowns out the conversation but enough to have Niall tapping away on the table across the booth from him. The five of them aren’t the only ones there, even if Liam would prefer it that way, but it’s not packed full. It’s only just gone seven; Harry says people don’t start showing up for karaoke for another hour or so. The other occupied tables, three on the opposite side and one behind, are filled with people looking for dinner and a chat, it would seem. 

Liam tries to settle back into the booth and take in the scene around him. His eyes flit over the posters on the walls and land on a dartboard by the bar. It’s black and red face is riddled with holes and, as Liam watches, a man takes aim to add another to the bunch. 

Zayn’s voice snatches Liam’s attention away. “Are you planning on holding that all night?” 

Liam smiles, an automatic response to Zayn’s—well just Zayn really—and glances down at the pint in his hands. He shrugs. “Might do.” 

Zayn, turned almost fully around in the booth so his entire body is facing Liam, scrunches his nose and tilts his head. “You like beer.” 

Liam nods. “Yeah. Just feeling a little weird is all.” 

Louis and Harry, sat next to Niall on the other side of the booth, cackle loudly together and Liam looks at them for a second, shaking his head fondly. When he looks back, Zayn is watching him with a soft look on his face. 

“You’re alright though, right?” He reaches out and stills Liam’s thigh that he’d not even realised he’d been bouncing. 

Liam shrugs, but before he can properly think about it, Niall is pulling on his arm, trying to get his attention. 

“You want chips?” Niall half shouts. “I want chips.” 

Zayn shifts around in his seat so he’s facing the table a little more. “You always want chips,” he points out with a laugh. 

“Is that a yes or a no, Malik,” Niall snaps with no real heat. “I’ve never seen you complaining when the chips hit the table, but if you need me to help you refrain…” 

Zayn holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. Yes to the chips for me.” 

“Me too,” Liam chimes in, and then finally takes a sip of his beer. “No peas though, I don’t care what Harry says.” 

As the night goes on, the chips come, pea free as requested, as do more pints, and more people. The pub fills quickly - for Liam it’s like one second it’s pleasantly occupied and the next he looks up and it’s packed full to the brim. 

He watches the large room, rakes his eyes over all the strangers with their loud voices and different smells. He tries to pay attention to the conversation at the table but his skin starts to feel too tight, like his body is itching to move. His brain spins and whirls. 

It reaches nearly unbearable when a woman steps up on stage and announces she’s the first performance of the night. The crowd shouts and shuffles, people turning in their seats to watch. There’s a whistle, a garbled shout, a laughing response. 

He’s meant to do that. He’s meant to stand up there and have all those eyes on him. All those people looking at him and waiting for him to do something to - to _perform_.

His stomach lurches and the room spins. He needs out. Out. Out. Out. He needs quiet, and calm, and just out. 

Mumbling something like _gotta use the loo_ , he shoves out of the booth, avoiding their eyes and pushes through the crowd. The front door feels a million miles away, stood at the end of a dark tunnel. He throws himself out of it and runs. 

* * *

The library is closed. For the first time in months, Liam wishes he were back in the in between place. He’s never been denied access to the library before, his safe place, his sanctuary. 

He’s not needed it, he realises, not since Zayn became that for him. But, it can’t be that way. He can’t hold on to Zayn, he can’t be with Zayn in this world. Zayn is young and happy and _normal_. He can go into a pub without feeling like the walls are closing in on him. He deserves someone who can do those things with him. He deserves a person. A real person. Not a soul pretending he belongs in this time. 

Liam sits down on the library steps and lets his throat burn. Let’s his chest ache. Lets the tears fall. 

* * *

The sky is turning pink when Zayn finds him. Liam watches him climb the steps through swollen eyes. Mentally begging him to turn back and go home. 

“Should have looked here first,” Zayn says, sitting down next to him. He rests his elbows on his knees and watches the sky. 

“You should go,” Liam whispers, voice raw. 

Zayn doesn’t seem to hear him. “Thought maybe you’d gone home. Then I thought maybe the lake. But, here makes sense.” 

“Zayn,” Liam tries again, “I’m- this is a waste of time.”

Zayn hears that. He turns his head slowly and stares at him. “What?” 

Liam’s whole body hurts. His head, his throat, his heart. “I’m not normal. I can’t do things like that. I can’t be a normal person, Zayn. This is a waste of time. I’m a waste of time.” 

Zayn gets up abruptly, startling Liam a little. He thinks he’s leaving, but Zayn moves to the step just below them and squats down, hands on Liam’s knees. 

“Look at me,” Zayn says, voice soft but firm. 

Liam hesitates but can’t stop himself from looking. Zayn’s eyes are red-rimmed and shimmering, but no tears fall. 

“I need you to hear me. I need you to listen.” Zayn says, pausing to wait for Liam to nod. “No one is normal. No one is perfect, Liam. I am not _normal_. Some days I feel like I can’t leave the flat. Some days I want to curl up and hide. Some days I’m afraid and I have no idea why. I am not normal and this? What you’re feeling? It has nothing to do with being a lost soul, Liam.” 

Liam shakes his head. “But, you go to class. You go to pubs-”

“So do you,” Zayn says urgently. “You do those things. You did it tonight. You don’t think sometimes I want to run? I do. And sometimes I fight it, sometimes I channel it into drawing or painting, sometimes I let it happen. Sometimes I run away too, Li.” 

They sit in silence, searching each other's faces. Liam feels better already, maybe because of Zayn’s presence. Like a weight being lifted off his chest. 

“It’s okay if you run away, Liam,” Zayn whispers. He slides his hand up to tangle their fingers together. “But, I’m always going to find you.” 

Liam looks down at their hands in his lap. Tears fall again, warm against his skin. Hope blooms in his chest like new flowers in spring. “Promise?”

Zayn tugs him up and wraps his arms around him, holding him close. He tilts his head to whisper in Liam’s ear. “Promise.” 

And when the sun rises, glinting off the library windows and warming their skin, it’s on a boy whose soul has finally found its place. 


End file.
